


Celestine

by FurorNocturna, WifeoftheSoulless



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor Speaks French (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Angel is sassy and we love him, Antichrist, Apocalypse, Cannibalism, Christianity Themes and Elements, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Husk being a dad, Husk has seen some shit and is exhausted, Overall Accuracy to the time period is ehh, References to Drugs, References to mafia and gang violence, Romance, Supernatural Elements, Tri-Bi-fecta Charlie Angel and Vaggie, We try our best but we’re bound to slip up on a few things and we’re sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 72,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26589475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FurorNocturna/pseuds/FurorNocturna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/WifeoftheSoulless/pseuds/WifeoftheSoulless
Summary: Upon learning she is the daughter of the Fallen One, orphan Charlotte 'Charlie' Celestine Magne is determined to find an out to fulfilling her destiny as the Antichrist.In defiance, she learns the practice of the Knights of Enoch under war vet and “retired” senior demon hunter, Corporal Garrick Evander Lauer, who prefers “Husk”. Taking vigilance in the city streets of Chicago, Charlie moonlights as 'Celestine', a demon huntress, in an effort to thwart those who seek to bring the End Times.As she is stalked by Lucifer's black hordes, the Fallen One calls to the aid of one renowned radio host to secure Charlie's failure in her endeavors to defy him and his apocalyptic plot.
Relationships: Alastor/Charlie Magne, Angel Dust/Vaggie (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 89
Kudos: 121





	1. Apple Blossom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apple Blossom, Apple Blossom
> 
> Snow white skin.
> 
> Crimson cheeks, red like sin.
> 
> Apple Blossom, Apple Blossom
> 
> A siren's song.
> 
> Free thyself, or to Hell, you'll belong!

_**2 Peter 3:7 NIV** By the same word the present heavens and earth are reserved for fire, being kept for the day of judgment and destruction of the ungodly._

* * *

Vagatha had always been her protector. 

Her knight, her shoulder in the late nights of endless tears.

Charlie dares not breathe, for what if in a single inhale, the news is proven false? Lungs latch to prolonged stillness, until she releases a long, cautious tension, her eyes drifting shut in a moment’s necessity to moisten her eyes. Raven's feathers flutter in her gaze when fear replaces the hopeful shine, her flaxen head coiled into a downpour of short ringlets. Out of habit, she takes a strand, testing the length.

_Still short._

“Charlotte?” The Abbess addresses, and she snaps awake, looking between herself and Vagatha sitting beside her.

“A little hard to believe, I see?” Abbess Judith titters.

Charlie nods, response slow. “...It is, ma’am…” She licks her lips, feeling her body give way to lethargy. “I just don’t want to wake up if this is a dream.”

All three ladies giggle, and Vagatha reaches for her hand. “It’s not, Charlie. I’m taking you away from here. _I’m_ the one adopting you.”

The dazed adolescent turns her palm over to return the gesture. Vagatha’s appearance has a much better explanation now: a woman’s pantsuit set for a business meeting. 

Charlie believed she was on her way to an interview, thinking she was only stopping by to say hello. When she heard her name called, she was balled up when she walked to the office, believing she broke an unknown rule. Vagatha left St. Germain’s Orphanage on her own a few months after her eighteenth birthday, visiting between her off-days from her job as a nurse. 

Charlie exhales again, lips pressed into a thin line. She thought her fate would be the same as Vagatha’s. A child past the age of twelve was less likely to be adopted, and Charlie’s fifteenth birthday only passed a month ago. She would be one of the few children the potential parents always overlooked.

“Who will read to the children now…?”

Vagatha sighs, but the Abbess laughs. “Poor thing, don’t you think the children would rather you were to have a family than stay here?”

She looks down, biting her lips. “Things always change for them. They’re comfortable when things are consistent.” 

“Charlie…” Vagatha tugs on her hand. “They’ll be fine. Things always change and they need to learn to adapt.” She pulls her face to meet her gaze. “I know I’m not the mother or father you were expecting, but I promise I will take care of you.”

“I know you would, Vaggie!”

“Then what’s the issue?” Charlie looks up to the Abbess, abashed by her own hesitation

She can’t think of a proper reason, even looking at the sweet older woman’s wizened eyes for answers. Only, her chest swells and her eyes start to burn. “I’m just– I…”

Charlie can’t speak, unable to push back an overflow of emotion! Heavy tears pour, staining her eternally pink cheeks! The Abbess and Vaggie now a blurred murk of color, she sobs openly into Vaggie’s suit. 

She completely gave up hope, and here she was, moments away from being adopted! 

She’s _wanted!_

The ladies allow her time to calm herself, and soon, the papers are signed. The fee is paid and Vagatha becomes her official guardian.

* * *

“How were you able to afford a house?!”

“Easy. I saved money while I was in the orphanage and once I got the job, I was able to buy it within a few months.” 

“It’s huge!” she yells, dancing in the living room.

“It’s actually really small, but if you think so.” Vaggie smiles widely, unable to frown now that Charlie’s light fills the halls. 

She already prepared a room for her. Sketchbooks, a table, a vanity, and a bed. Only a table and a couple of chairs sit in the kitchen, the rest of the house bare of decorations. A bland little space, as Vagatha doesn’t have much time to be home, but Charlie does not find the space bland at all, or even small.

This is her castle! 

“Oh, I can’t wait to decorate! We can have a piano here, a harp here, and a _bookshelf!_ Oh, my goodness! Vaggie!! My room has an alcove!! Just like the one at the orphanage!”

Yes. Even if she returns to the house in a garish hue of pink, she will gladly give Charlie full liberty. Of all people, the nurse couldn’t think of anyone else who deserves a home more.

A cottage outside of the city, Vagatha chose the furthest one affordable for herself and Charlie. _The Mud City_ is too cruel for a soul like her, pure and untouched of corruption riddling the streets. Chicago’s radio stations fill with constant reports of deaths. As children, she sometimes joined Charlie in her bed as she heard the gunfire, pulling her in an embrace to shush into her little ears. A terrible sound for a child is gunfire too close for their comfort, and she would tell her the sounds were just an automobile’s rusty engine popping through the pipe.

Charlie became the little sister she always wanted as soon as her big, infant eyes met with hers. Before, she wouldn’t let anyone near her, often pulled into detention because of another fight with the boys when they played too rough or the girls when they commented on how weird she was for choosing to play alone. 

Vagatha Garcia was picked up from the home of an abusive father and neglectful mother, taken to the orphanage during a time when all she knew was turmoil. 

Fighting was all she knew. All she saw.

A new infant, abandoned on the steps of the orphanage, was brought inside by a distressed Abbess. Her cries pierced the little girl who sequestered herself to the lonely corner with her blocks. 

To this day, Vagatha still can’t quite place why her little cries enticed her to rush to the Abbess and cling to her dress, when other children’s cries annoyed her. Understandably, the plump woman was reluctant to show her their new addition, as Vagatha had built her reputation based around her volatility, but the pastor was surprised. She did not cling to the Abbess to kick her knee or demand she give her the biggest piece of chicken, but to politely request she see the baby’s face. 

He stooped to Vagatha’s height. _“Do you want to look at the little one, Vagatha?”_

The little girl nodded, her big eyes wide and hopeful.

So, the pastor nodded for Abbess Judith to show her, confident she had no intention to harm her. The Abbess remained doubtful, and kept a distance from the young _pachuca._

Vagatha marveled the squished up face with barely open eyes, the faintest traces of white hair peeking under a pink hat, but what was most amazing of this little bundle were the reddest cheeks she had ever seen, like someone took a crayon and drew over her thin skin. 

_“Can I hold her?”_ she babbled. Abbess Judith again hesitated, but Pastor Ren cradled his arms to an invisible bundle. 

_“Okay, but first, sit down on that seat and hold her like this.”_

For the first time since she joined the orphanage, she was quick to obey, running into her seat, even though it was playtime, and held her arms like so. Abbess Judith was shocked! Pastor Ren came close, and gestured again without guiding her hands. “Like this, so her head doesn’t fall back.”

She corrected her arms, and the pastor beckoned the Abbess. “Alright, Vagatha, here we go…”

Truly a marvel for everyone who paid attention, for as soon as Vagatha held the newly deemed Charlotte Celestine Magne, as written on the letter left in her basket, she swore from thereon she would protect her.

Vagatha would be on her best behavior just so she could have the opportunity to take care of Charlotte. Even during her lunchtime, she would run to the Abbess to check on the infant, eating her chicken and sandwiches by her crib. She sang to her, even though her voice was not very good. Charlotte was deemed ‘Charlie’ due to Vagatha’s inability to properly say her name, just as Charlie could not say hers well when she first learned to speak. ‘Vaga, Vaggie…’ and so on, until Vagatha at last accepted to be known as ‘Vaggie’ by her. 

Charlie was her perfect little world, and for anyone who wanted to adopt her or Charlie separately, she would lock herself in a room, holding Charlie close. No amount of coercion could convince her to come out until the parents left.

Pastor Ren saw it against his better judgement to let Charlie or even Vagatha be taken separately, because if Vagatha was without her, he knew all the progress of her newfound generosity would be lost. Abbess Judith first found his reluctance ridiculous when a year passed.

_“She needs parents, Pastor Ren! We can’t force a little girl of four to be her guardian! Vagatha won’t have a life of her own!”_

_“Until Charlotte came, she never had a life to begin with.”_

Against his wishes, she found out what would become of the little girl when she dared to take Charlie from her crib and put her into another in her office to meet new parents the next day. 

Vagatha was in a terrible state the next morning, flipping her seat and ruining her bed, crying! _“Charlie! Where’s Charlie! She needs me!”_

She starved herself in the corner, refusing to be touched by anyone, and ignoring her meals for an entire day, weeping endlessly for ‘Charlie’. Pastor Ren, ever patient with Abbess Judith, demanded she show him where she put her, and the Abbess, with guilty tears in her eyes, finally gave up the child from her office, the infant asleep after she had been newly fed. When Vagatha saw her in the Abbess’s arms, she ran to her immediately and reached for her bundle.

 _“Oh, darling…”_ Abbess Judith wept, coming to her knees and gently passing Charlie into Vagatha’s arms. _“I didn’t realize you had such a need for her…”_

Since then, it wouldn't be perceived for either of them to have the girls separated. Ever in each other’s company, child after child would be plucked off as they grew, until Charlie grew a tendency to sing offhandedly during any time of day. 

Classes would fill with impromptu singing, lunches spent on silly diddies, and lullabies extended long past their bedtime. When Charlie had to be punished for her disruptive singing, she would pull away from Vagatha during each break time to go to the music room, where all the old instruments were laid. It was this room that became her refuge where she could sing. Though, one time, when Vagatha saw her come out of the music room for lunch, she remembers something very odd. Her hair grew out, more than a few inches. Had it always been that long?

As she grew, and her voice became clearer, one younger boy came to hear her sing. She taught him to sing, and he brought others so they could learn as well. She would soon have to have a time slot where everyone could learn, and soon, they would have a choir of children. Abbess Judith and Pastor Ren were astounded by her talent, and saddened, as neither of them could teach her to hone her skill. Saving enough money, they hired a music teacher to give the children lessons each Tuesday and Thursday. Charlie was beside herself, taking every little moment to learn for short private lessons, to which the music teacher, Mr. Elliot, was delighted to give her.

One thing Vagatha had been worried about in Charlie’s newfound talents was she would try to run away to be an actor or a singer, but the contrary was true. She simply loves the arts, but her heart truly lies with the orphans she grew up with. Every new child or lonely one, Charlie had the heart to welcome all, and wished to share her love with everyone. At first, Vagatha was sad Charlie could not simply be happy with their own friendship, but every night, when it was time for bed, one way or another, one of them would end up in each other’s bed, cuddling. 

As the years rolled by, Vagatha knew she was beginning to grow too old to be adopted, and picked up odd jobs, requested she have a role for small earnings. Pastor Ren had passed away in the year she turned fourteen, and Abbess Judith was the only one running the orphanage, so Vagatha’s help could not have come soon enough. 

She saved pocket change, coins dropped from the street, and all the bills she earned, and even picked up medical books to read. While she was not an official employee, the Abbess treated her fairly with each allowance until she saved up enough to finally buy this refuge outside of that dreadful city.

Where Charlie would finally be safe.

“I could put my gifts here! And here!”

Vagatha looks over, seeing her flip open her luggage to the gifts she received over the years. The ones the new guardian was reluctant to include in their move. Birthday presents from an anonymous giver, the very first being the golden necklace of an apple blossom pendant around her neck. She picks up an old baby doll from when she was two, and places it on the bed. A little book of nursery rhymes from her seventh birthday goes on her desk, and a jewelry box from her eleventh on her new vanity. Vagatha watches each mismatched knick-knack place around her new bedroom, feeling strangely invaded by each new addition. She knows better than to argue with Charlie to rid herself of them. 

_“I want to be able to meet the man who sent me these.”_ Charlie said, as Vagatha overlooked what she packed. _“Maybe he can tell me about my parents…”_

Abbess Judith refrained from giving any details other than it was an elder man who dropped them off. At least, until Charlie was out of the room. 

_“He asked each time for me not to let her know who he was when he dropped off those gifts.”_

_“But why?”_ Vaggie inquired, back in the Abbess’s office after Charlie entered the car. 

_“I don’t know, but he was adamant she did not seek him out. So, I’m afraid I must abide by his wishes. However, he never mentioned I couldn’t tell_ **_you._ ** _”_ Vagatha loves and hates this particular tendency of the Abbess. She tends to find loopholes so she could override certain rules she found ridiculous. For her calm nature, she is an underlying spitfire, even after all these years. _“But I assure you, dear Vagatha. It would be to Charlotte’s best interest she never meets him. He is a good man, yes, but he has…unbecoming pastimes.”_

 _“If he was a good man, he would have kept Charlie.”_ Vagatha countered, uncaring of what he does for ‘unbecoming pastimes.’

 _“Vagatha, not every man is your father.”_ She remembers the sad look Abbess Judith gave her then, the same one she gave when Vagatha involved herself into fights before Charlie. 

_“Pastor Ren was a good man.”_ Abbess Judith is not perfect, but she is the closest thing to a parent she and Charlie had, even when it comes to saying the things Vagatha does not want to hear. 

_“So are others.”_

Both knew better than to open this can of worms. An exhausted subject, really. Neither continued, and Abbess Judith took that time to describe him then. Vagatha committed the description to memory, annoyed to learn he was a well-known _boozehound_ and gambler. How can someone like _that_ be any good for Charlie to meet? Agreeing with the Abbess to keep him a secret, Vagatha took the adoption papers and set out for their new home in Spring Forest.

Their lives slowly build atop the barren house. Charlie attends a nearby schoolhouse, and decorates their home little by little with lamps and a bookcase a mother next door donated to them. Vagatha works often, coming home late from long shifts. On weekends, Charlie played and sang to the radio often, and recently, she’s been uppity about this new radio host she learned about from the schoolhouse.

“Doesn’t he sound so dashing, Vaggie?” Vagatha hums a response, mindlessly reading her newspaper as the hours are stolen by his golden voice and theatrical antics through audio horror shows. Truly, she doesn’t care too much to give a _hoot_ about the Louisianan on the radio _._ “I wonder what New Orleans must be like!”

She flips through her paper. “Can’t be much different from Chicago. Cities are nothing but trouble.”

_“Wet blanket!”_

“Realist, _mija_.”

Nothing big ever happens in Spring Forest, save for a few fairground events a year and community reunions. A quaint town it is, with good people, local businesses, and safe. Vagatha likes her coworkers well enough, and Charlie gets along well with her classmates in Spring Forest Secondary. Of course, there is her singing habit, and Vagatha thinks she does well at the local church as a choir singer and the schoolhouse’s singing lessons. Until, one day, Charlie surprises her with a request.

“Can we see the orphans?” Vagatha looks up from her toast, teeth barely clamped over the jam. Her stunned silence prompts Charlie to continue quickly. “I-I- I just want to see how they’re doing! You know! Timmy always likes to have his sandwiches cut into little squares, and Samantha needs to have her little bunny with her so she can feel calm when she’s getting to know potential parents! An-And Mr. Elliot’s new wife will be having a baby soon! So soon, he’ll have less time to teach the children! Since Abbess Judith no longer has Pastor Ren to help her and we just left, who’s helping her now?”

“You _really_ can’t stop worrying about them, can you?” Vagatha sighs. Placing down her toast, she twines her fingers, a whimsical smile rising. “...You know they have to learn to fend for themselves at some point, right? With or without parents, everything is always going to change for them, Charlie. You can’t stop that. And the sooner you learn that, the better it’ll be for you.”

“But I want the change to be easy for them…” She pokes her pancakes, black lashes downcast. “I mean, if it weren’t for you, it would have been harder for _me.”_

“But not everyone is us, hun. We were blessed. _Me,_ especially.” Charlie places down her fork, biting her lower lip timidly as her hands clasp under the table.

“I miss singing with them. The church is nice, yes! I love the people I sing with, especially the little old ladies! They bring me cakes after church sometimes, and I love hearing about their lives when they were young! Did you know that Mrs. Salazar was the youngest of fifteen children?!” Charlie realizes her ramble, indicated by Vagatha's raised eyebrow. She quickly backtracks to her original request. 

“A-Anyways, it’s just… not the same. I....” she mumbles, looking away. 

“Charlie, look at me when speaking, please?” Charlie looks back, lips pressed thin. “What did you say?”

“I said I _miss_ them. Vaggie,” Her guardian sits back, ready for yet another winded reason she wants to go back, “They look at the door every single day for parents to come for them. I did the same thing. One day, I looked away from the door and saw other children were looking just as much as I was. During playtime, lunchtime, even during classes. All of us were looking. Some of us were able to stop because they now have new parents, but what helped me stop was being read to, playing outside, but especially singing. It helps fill this emptiness I feel in me!”

She blinks, actually somewhat surprised by how profound Charlie sounds. 

“I want to…give them that. I know I can’t change their circumstances, but if I could give them that _one thing_ that could bring them joy, I want to provide it. It doesn’t have to be singing! I could even read to them.”

Vagatha says nothing, now contemplative. This is something deeper than going back to a place she is familiar with. By now, she’s supposed to worry about boys and school, but what’s on her mind are the _orphans._ If this isn’t a lucky break, Vaggie can’t consider anything else, but traveling to and fro from the orphanage won’t be cheap. Pressing her lips, she looks up to the clock.

“Oh, _horsefeathers!_ I need to go to work! And you need to _ankle_ yourself to the schoolhouse!” 

She jumps to her feet when she guzzles down her coffee, and finishes her toast in two bites. “ _Andale_ , _mija_! And don’t forget to buy some spices on your way home! We’re having pepper steak tonight!” 

Charlie squeals happily, following suit when she hoards her pancake in three bites. “R’okay!”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, _mija_!”

As Vagatha _hooves_ herself down to the clinic, she decides she’ll give Charlie an answer about the orphanage during dinner.

* * *

“Are you going to listen to _Terror Tales to Tell at Twilight_ tonight, Charlotte?”

“I never miss it!” Charlie gathers her books as Yvonne takes up her purse. “I _love_ Alastor’s voice!”

“Isn't he just the _bee’s knees_? Oh, I bet he’s a _big timer_ for the eyes to boot! I’m going to take a train to New Orleans and put a _manacle_ on that man, just you wait!” She discreetly pulls out a tube from her purse, catching Charlie’s eye when she uncaps a color of lipstick in the girls’ room.

She gawks at the sight. “How did you manage to get your hands on _that_?!”

Yvonne places her finger over her lips. “Promise not to tell?”

Charlie nods. 

“Mother has a cousin in Hollywood, and she sometimes sends me gifts. She sent this to me on my sixteenth birthday!”

“ _Horsefeathers!_ Is it someone I know from the _picture show_?” Charlie jealously watches her apply the rouge, tapping tiny dabs so the color appears natural when she mashes her lips with a pop. They look so plush and beautiful! 

“She hasn’t made her debut yet, unfortunately, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed! Want to try?”

Charlie backs away. “I shouldn’t. Vaggie would kill me!”

“She’s not your mom, so why should you care?”

“You’d understand if you met her!” She looks to the clock, sighing. “Well, I have to go to the market. I’ll see you Monday!”

“Wait, but aren’t you going to the _picture show_ with me on Saturday?”

 _That’s right!_ Her yellow bob falls over her dark eyes when she comes to a screeching halt. _Vaggie hasn’t made a decision yet about going to the orphanage this weekend._

She shakes her head. She is getting ahead of herself, thinking Vagatha will readily agree. 

“I nearly forgot. Thanks for reminding me!” She nods apologetically. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Yvonne waves as Charlie rushes toward the door, reaching down for her basket left by the schoolhouse’s door. 

“Charlotte!!” She snaps her attention back to Yvonne, her eyes wide with horror. “Get away from there!!” 

The other girl frantically rushes toward her, her pretty dress pulled up to her knees.

“Wh–?” Charlie can’t finish the first word to her question when her hand is snatched back, pulled from the door! 

_“Look!!”_ Yvonne screams, pointing urgently to the basket.

Screams begin to fill the closed space, and Charlie’s spine tingles with an unknown terror. She looks down to her basket, and gapes.

A snake, a purple viper, stares back at her with unkind, yellow eyes. A vibrant head bobs from within the weaving, draped maliciously over the handle as a pitchblack tongue darts out. Snakes were nothing new to the area, but there’s something keen and oppressive in its glower, honed in on the golden-haired adolescent! 

Charlie clings to Yvonne, her bones chilled by the thought she could have been bitten by this creature! 

“Thanks! That was such a close call!”

“Mrs. Margery!!” Another classmate shouts! “Mrs. Margery, help!” 

The elderly Mrs. Margery rushes out of her kitchen, following the many points gestured toward the reptile coiled around the basket’s handle. 

Mrs. Margery huffs. “Honestly, you girls should know how to handle yourselves better.”

The teacher takes a broom, fearless when she carries the basket out, arms fully extended to keep the viper outstretched of her reach. Strangely, it does not react, nor even hisses as the teacher places it on the grass of the schoolhouse. Even though the teacher would bare herself as its adversary, Charlie can feel its piercing gaze stare into her, even when she hides in Yvonne’s arms. As the girls watch Mrs. Margery pull the broom out of the handle, the snake darts into the grass, startling all with its swiftness as it removes itself from the premises.

She pulls herself from Yvonne’s arms, even though she is far from calm. She can still feel those eyes looking into her. Watching her.

“Alright, Charlotte, it’s gone now. You can take your basket now.”

She stares at the newly emptied basket, still crawling with the _heebie-jeebies_ across her skin. 

“Go on, now.” Mrs. Margery gestures, nudging a double-chin off the premises. 

She finally breathes, allowing calm to guide her toward her empty basket. All traces of the creature are gone, but she feels like it’s tainted now. Still, swallowing her disgust, she takes it up, exhaling deeply when she nods a thanks to her teacher. 

As she walks with uneasy steps toward the market, the serpent stares from behind a small boulder set next to the schoolhouse, its yellow eyes never leaving the girl in its sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while I was making TRSG, I made a small comment of 'hey, what do you guys think of a Hercules AU? Alastor TOTALLY gives me the Megara vibes'.
> 
> FurorNocturna meeped, and asked, 'Can I be your cowriter?'
> 
> Then this masterpiece was born! I'll be slower with updates with this work than for TRSG, but trust me, I'm SUPER EXCITED for an Apocaplyse AU, especially inspired by one of my favorite movies from childhood! NOW STRAP ON FOR TWO CHARLASTOR AUs!!
> 
> Pachuca- Hispanic, or Mexican term of the time period
> 
> Boozehound- drunkard
> 
> The Mud City- One of many names for Chicago, due to its corrupted reputation.
> 
> Hoot- care
> 
> Andale - come along
> 
> Mija- term of endearment
> 
> Wet Blanket- Killljoy
> 
> Andale- quickly
> 
> Horsefeathers- bullcrap
> 
> bee’s knees- amazing
> 
> Big timer- A charming and romantic man
> 
> Manacle- wedding ring
> 
> Picture Show- movie
> 
> Heebie jeebies - the shivers, uncomfortable


	2. Baby Doll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Baby Blue,
> 
> You can't be true.
> 
> All that you do, 
> 
> You stamp my heart true.
> 
> Lie to my face
> 
> Now you're erased.
> 
> Fall to your pace,
> 
> You're gone without a trace.
> 
> Poem by WifeoftheSoulless

_**1 Peter 5:8 NIV** Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour._

* * *

  
“Yes, but–”

She’s cut off again, her ear bleeding from the disparaging shouts through the receiver.

“Ma’am, you can’t– The prescription–!” Charlie sits back in her seat as she surrenders her ear to yet another barrage of ‘woe is me’ of a patient who will pay for anything but is unwilling to pay for the prescription she herself demanded. Even with insurance.

Charlie pinches her nose, the right of her desk empty of the favorite mug. She didn’t have time to make herself coffee this morning, with her alarm deciding to break in the middle of the night and each call taking its toll on her abnormally, long-suffering patience. At last, when she can respond, her voice remains void of the frustration building through the last few hours.

“Mrs. Perkins, if you wanted to have your prescription without paying for it, the only option left for you is to come to your appointments! Yesterday was the third time you missed a scheduled appointment, and doctor’s time is very valuable!”

‘ **I’m the one who pays his bills, honey!** ’

 _Not if you ask for every damn thing for free,_ she bites back her snark, counting before she replies, “I will speak with the doctor about perhaps making another, but we have a policy. You don’t come to the next one, you will be released as a patient, and you–”

Charlie cuts herself short before she says something she’ll regret.

“We’ll have to refer to another doctor. That is all I can promise you.”

Another few choice words and a cursed goodbye later, she finally could put down the receiver. Releasing a long, exhausted sigh, she falls back into her seat, leaning her head back into the rest.

**_BRRRRRNNG!! BRRRRRNNG!!_**

_BANG!!_

Those in the lobby, attentive to the latest newspaper of the typical mundanes, immediately react to the hard _boom_ of Charlie’s faceplant into the hardwood of her desk. They look about, wondering where the apple-cheeked beauty had gone, not realizing she lays flat on the surface fighting a bout of frustrated tears.

Sluggishly with a groan, she drags an arm across the surface, hand slithering to reluctantly grasp the receiver, a deep breath summoning a will of calm composure. She lifts the receiver, counts to three, stretches a fake smile and pops her head above the desk with a chipper, “Dr. Fauci’s Office! This is Charlotte Magne speaking! How can I help you?”

And on the day went.

The last four years went by in a blink. Spring Forest hardly changed, but for Charlie’s life, it felt like everything had shifted upside down. The friends she made from secondary school have since drifted, made their lives elsewhere. Yvonne made true to her promise and had since bought a ticket to New Orleans after graduation.

It’s just been her and Vagatha these last two years. Not that she hasn’t tried to expand her horizons in meeting new people. The thing is, she knows _everybody_ here in this small town. Any invitations she’s extended outside the workplace are often shut down, mothers with families at home, or the normal post-work fatigue which enforces coworkers to keep her at an arm’s length, always promising ‘maybe next time.’

Only next time never comes. 

Something she’s learned from a ‘sweet’ old lady of a patient was kind enough to clarify when someone says ‘later’, they really mean, ‘not ever’.

Charlie deflates, ending a fifth call with an irate patient.

 _If only I still had_ him _to help me get through the day…_

Charlie tried to shake the thoughts from her head.

One would think she was fawning over some schoolyard crush the way her mind ached for the radio host of _Terror Tales to Tell at Twilight_. Yet his absence hurt as much all the same.

When Mr. Alastor first disappeared off the air mid-September of last year, she thought it a fluke. Perhaps he was on vacation or perhaps on sick-leave. Then days passed into weeks, then months, and never once was there any announcement or explanation for anything.

He was just…gone.

Her thoughts return to Yvonne, her beaming smile almost blinding the day she jumped on that train!

_“Just you wait, Charlotte! I’m coming back as Mrs. Radio Demon!”_

That made Charlie pause.

…What was Alastor’s proper last name again? Something fancy and mysterious. Just like him.

How could she not remember!?

For an instant, a stab of envy boils in her breast. Yvonne had somehow won over the famed radio host as her husband and _snatched_ him into an early retirement! Yet the instant her bitterness touched the base of her throat, she immediately regrets her thoughts. How can she think such mean thoughts about her own friend? If she did, then good for her!

But if she didn’t…then where could he be?

Exhaling, she leans on an open hand, mourning her radio host’s absence.

_Oh, her Lost Lenore! Mr. Alastor!_

_Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore!”_

She rolls her eyes at herself. Now she understands when Vagatha tells her when she’s being too dramatic.

“Rough morning, hon? You’re looking ragged.”

“Agh!!” Charlie jumps in her seat, hands balled to her chest when she spins around to see a smirking Vagatha. Her deep chuckle is a telling reaction to Charlie’s overt expression, gaping jaws and _pie-eyed._ The tension falling from her shoulders, she slumps over her desk in relief. If it were anyone else, she would be worried she was caught daydreaming. “You about scared me half to death…”

“I can tell.” She can smell the delicious brew in her hand, and Charlie withholds her impulse to snatch the java from her hand. Were they at home, she would have taken the mug with an impish grin.

When she pushes it toward her, she quirks a brow in question.

“It’s for you, silly.”

Charlie squeals, gingerly taking the mug with a sparkle in her eye. “I owe you my life!”

“I own you, so it balances out.”

 _You’re a legal guardian_ angel, _Vaggie!_

In a single sip, she feels the surge of caffeine envelope her mind with a cool tranquility. Cinnamon tinting her tongue and milk coating her throat delectably. Vagatha always knew how she liked her coffee. “Thank you _so_ much. I really needed this.”

“After that fifth call, I figured you could use it.”

Charlie tenses. “You heard that?”

Vagatha gives a sheepish chuckle. “The better question is who _didn’t_ hear it. You hit the desk pretty hard.”

Charlie’s hands rub her cheeks in a circular motion, staving off the fierce heat taking over her face. “Oh noooo…”

Vaggie offers a comforting pat to her back. “It’s okay. It happens. We all have our bad days, but that’s never been something to bring you down like this.” She rubs a thumb on her charge’s shoulder. “What’s eating you?”

Charlie rubs a finger on the lip of the new mug. Vagatha’s observation only comes to show how poor she hides her innermost torments, and she leans back in her seat in surrender. “Remember when I went out with that Sebastian fella the other night?”

Vagatha sneers. “ _Ese_ _cabrón_?”

“Yes, him.” she chuckles before her grin falls. “...I finally broke things off with him, and some of the things he had to say about it, well…”

“What did he say?” Vagatha cut in, already up and arms.

Charlie waves her arms in an awkward shrug. “Just…some not so nice things.”

Vagatha met her awkward smile with a narrowed gaze. 

“I don’t wanna repeat them.” she finishes lamely.

Vagatha was about to say more before the air rings with the whir of the intercom. ‘Nurse Garcia! You’re needed in room 5 for the patient's scheduled sponge bath.’

Charlie can’t help but giggle as her guardian grimaces.

“At least now you know you’re not alone in having an unpleasant day so far.” Vaggie turns to her with a wry smile. “Rainbows always come after the rain. Just hang in there and the shift will be up before you know it!”

Charlie waves as Vagatha departs, feeling a renewed resolve.

Vagatha’s right. She has her coffee, she has her guardian, and she has her soft bed waiting for her the moment her shift’s done. And there are some new releases in the _picture show_! She should invite Vagatha out to see one! She’s been itching to see a new romantic comedy!

The front door opens, and she habitually begins the greeting for all patients upon entry. 

“Welcome! Do you have an appoint–” _Lord, help her._

Instantly, the recovery falls into the pit of her stomach, all sense of security spirited away by a single glance of the figure entering the facility. 

Voice lodged in her throat, wide eyes pin dangerously to a man no younger than twenty. His suit forms an athlete’s physique as he strides into the lobby with purpose, nose haughtily raised toward the ceiling as his searching eyes meet her own. Charlie wishes then she had ducked, for there stands the very reason her morning began on a less-than-stellar foot.

Sebastian Harold von Eldridge, the heir to an old money estate deep in the North Side of Chicago.

And her ex as of two nights ago. Just what is he doing _here,_ of all places, in Spring Forest?

Charlie practically prays that he’s only here for an appointment — though she acutely doubts it — she reclaims a dignified air of professionalism, keeping her smile amicable, although her eyes remain hardened.

“Do you have an appointment with us today, _sir_?” Charlie repeats tightly.

“With _you, babydoll_.”

She irks, smile tightening.

“ _Sir,”_ the blonde strains, “I’m afraid I don’t have the capabilities in the medical profession to assist you.” _Lord knows you need a head doctor, “_ Thence, I must ask you to leave the establishment unless you are here to make an appointment.”

“C’mon, Charlotte…” Sebastian drawls, “Just give me a few minutes of your time, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Charlie inhales deeply. While she doesn't mind whether to be referred to by her full _moniker_ or nickname, something about Sebastian’s derisive pattern coils her stomach. 

“This is neither the time nor place.” she admonishes. “And I’ve already said all I had to say.”

Sebastian persists, laying his hands on either side of the reception table. Charlie remains resolute, voice ready to sound in alarm should he _dare_ try to pull any funny business. Steely ceruleans harden in his gaze, daggers between his lashes.

“Now that’s just unfair. Since _I_ didn’t get to say all _I_ had to say.” 

Her fist curls silently in her lap. _Don’t give in. What he said that evening was all the leverage you needed to finally end it. Nothing more can be said!_

“If it’s that important, then let me finish my shift.” 

_Darn it!_

Sebastian frowns. “And how long would that be?”

“I get off at 5pm.”

Sebastian looks up to the clock. The short hand lingers on the 11th hour, and the longer, on the 12th minute.

“Can’t we talk during your lunchtime?”

She speaks sternly, perhaps harder than she should as the hospital’s receptionist.

“ _No.”_

“Why _not_?” he grinds out, and she recognizes the storm of emotion building beneath the deceptively tranquil blues set in his darkened brow.

To think she once believed such orbs could not belong to one capable of hidden cruelties.

“I haven’t had a good morning, so I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone.” _Least of all,_ **_you._**

His fingers roll on the hardwood, nails disrupting the stillness of the otherwise silent lobby. She reels back in her seat, expectant of a violent session she senses rolling off of his shoulders. Security guards stand amongst the waiting patients, boredly shuffling from one foot to the other. Oh, they’ll have a ball with this one if he so much as raises his voice. 

Much to her surprise, the rolling emotion abates. Like the hackles of a raging wolf receding into a smooth pelt, Sebastian raises himself up from the desk, his eyes closed and lips now a thin, embittered line. Charlie sees the works of his jaw rolling, his tongue poking into his cheek, something he does when he attempts to calm down.

She is not aware of her own relief until she releases a long, slow breath, keeping her chin up to remain dignified. 

“...Very well, then. I’ll leave you alone until your shift ends.”

She blinks, surprised. 

“I should be thankful that you’ll give me a chance to win you back.”

Immediately, her relief turns to scorn, and she does not stop herself.

_“Not so good, pal.”_

Sebastian’s jaw tenses, his mind swarming once more. “Beg pardon?”

Charlie’s mind buzzes to stop herself, to swallow back her pride, to think of the status of the hospital, but her selfish desire to scorch this man’s arrogance wins over her conscience.

“If you expect me to pursue another courtship with you, then I strongly suggest you go back to Chicago right now. I’m not interested in even giving you another chance.”

“You said you would give me a chance to explain myself!”

“And I’m telling you then it’s a waste of time. I made up my mind, Mr. von Eldridge.” Satisfied by the recoil of using his last name, she raises her chin, smile muted as the chill of her indignation flashes across her features. “I meant what I said. I’ll be willing to speak with you after my shift, as promised, but I am unwilling to continue a relationship with you.”

A surge of pride flows within her chest, a weight lifted from her chest when she finally gives him the _icy mitt_!

“Now, please leave. I have a job to do.”

**_BRRRRNGGG!_**

She did not expect to welcome the bothersome sound, reaching out to take up the receiver in an indirect motion of finality that the conversation was over.

Only Sebastian’s hand catches it first, taking it by the neck to yank it out of her reach.

“What are you _doing!?”_

He doesn’t look at her when he picks up the phone, answering without a single beat of hesitation. “Our nurses are busy. Please try again later!”

_Slam!_

The stand is replaced to the desk with a _thud_ , not a single trace of remorse on the heir’s smarmy _button._

Charlie gapes, unable to speak past her shock.

“On second thought, why don’t we do this _now,_ since you’re _keen_ on your decision.”

She comes to her feet, teeth bare through her petalline snarl.

“ _Get. Out.”_ she hisses through her teeth, her own emotions roiling to a dangerous height. 

Sebastian challenges her, returning his fists to the desk as a new miasma of menace broils. “I’ve told you I need patience. I’ve told you I need understanding. I’ve told you I require _respect.”_

Her fists tighten.

“I’ve given you all the respect you asked for, only for you to treat me like dirt! You don’t deserve an _ounce.”_

“Have you really? _Oh yeah_!”

This is so _childish!_

He’s arguing with her in the middle of the hospital, in front of the patients in the lobby. She takes a deep breath, willing her patience return as she presses her temples, counting in her head.

“Where was that respect when I told you to quit talking about that _radio host_ around me?”

She recoils, horrified. “Don’t talk about that!”

“Oh, no, doll! You decided to give me your answer now, so you’re going to be fair and let me _finish_ what we started!”

“Security!!” The guards already begin to move, their attention caught when the _egg_ raises his voice.

“Oh, we’re playing, are we!?” Sebastian snarls, raising the attention of the entire waiting room. The elderly look up from their newspapers, children tug on their fathers and mothers, gesturing to the loud man yelling at the pretty lady. “Let’s level the playing field!” 

“Get him out of here! _”_ The guards reach out to him as Charlie repeats. 

To her chagrin, Sebastian shakes off their hands, roaring across the desk!

"All of your dreams are nothing but hot air! A child's fantasy that will _never_ come true. Just like that wish for your radio host to come back to sing you good night!”

“Leave!!”

The guards grab his arms again, dragging him back, but he digs his wingtips into the floor, growling like an animal. Charlie feels her chest palpitating, moments from breaking through her ribs from either rage or fear. She steps back when his thrashing worsens, throwing an elbow into the gut of one and stamping on the foot of the other.

Pained howls keen to the ears of the many nurses down the hall, doors swinging open to the commotion.

He charges, and she backs away, fearful he’ll actually try to jump over the desk to strangle her. Sebastian instead slams on the hardwood, shaking the foundation as his snarl peels from his gnashing teeth, a grin curled of deep-seated animosity to punish.

 _“He's probably rotting in some ditch right now and no one fucking cares! Or maybe, he's fucking some chippy’s brains out! You would have never amounted to_ **anything** _in his sight! Just like you never amounted to_ **anyone** _in that godforsaken orphanage!”_

Charlie doesn’t think to check her hair’s length then, nor does she attempt to still the flames burning into an infernal retribution between her ribs. Her breaths heavy, a thunderous pulse rips through her ears, louder than any tempest she’s known! She can’t tell if it’s herself, or something else awakening with the new rush of blood pumping through her limbs.

She nevertheless welcomes this change, and allows her rage to flourish.

“ **Y** 𝕠 **u** **𝕦𝕡𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕖** _**so** 𝕟 **𝕠f a b𝕚𝕥𝕔h**_!”

**_SLAM!!_**

The desk breaks at her feet, the lumber easily caving under her fists before her hand latches around his collar. Oh, now this is a new expression! His eyes furious open wide as saucers, and his jaw gapes wide.

She adores it! Loves the _smell_ of it, ambrosia dripping through his skin in dews of sweat! Fear! It’s a cloying sweetness to her nostrils, watering her mouth to milk it from this wretched piece of shit! 

A manic giggle spills from her lips. “ _I’m_ full of hot air? That’s funny, pot calling the kettle black!”

Tears begin to fill his powder blues, his body slumping in her grip as she towers him.

“ℍ𝕦𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕡𝕦𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕥 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕪𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕒 𝕔𝕒𝕣𝕖! 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕥𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦’𝕣𝕖 _𝕙𝕠𝕥𝕤𝕪-𝕥𝕠𝕥𝕤𝕪_! 𝕃𝕖𝕥’𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕙𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕔𝕙𝕠𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕟 𝕚𝕥 **¥ðµr§êlϝ!!** ”

Fingers tighten around his neck, wringing it like a hangman’s noose when she hoists him from the floor. And how she delights in making him _do the dance_ at her whim, feet flailing! Glorious sounds enter her ears. Screams of horror, the gagging from his pathetic squirming. Chaos of running feet, and crashing chairs and tables.

A beautiful, _glorious_ symphony of discord!

“Miss Charlotte!!”

She snarls, raising her sneer toward the guards who _dare_ interrupt her celebration. Both men reel, a loud holler erupting through one _bimbo_ as the other’s hand dives back to retrieve his firearm. 

Then something pierces her chest.

Painful and stabbing against her heart like a dagger! Her entire body rips with an unnamable agony, forcing her to drop Sebastian into a hapless heap as she flies back with an animalistic screech.

“ **N̷y̶a̷a̵a̶a̷a̶a̷a̴a̶a̷a̷a̴a̶a̷a̸a̶a̶a̵a̵a̸g̷h̴!!!** ** _”_**

Hands claw at her chest, but whatever she catches then singes her palms. Like someone takes a branding stick hot off the iron and melts her skin!

She thrashes to the floor, rolling wildly as she sobs! “Stop it!! Stop it, it hurts!!”

Her voice doesn’t sound like hers! Why does she sound like she hasn’t drank water in years?

Tears burn her eyes, clawing at the floor when she raises her sights above her. Nurses watch her, retreating away from her with horrified screeches! Amongst them is her guardian, her hands slapped over her mouth, face etched in purified horror!

Seeing Vagatha look at her like that… 

Charlie’s senses return with a sickening torsion of shame, her rage doused in the rains of self-loathing the longer she looks into Vagatha’s tearful reproach.

She doesn’t want her to leave her too!

She doesn’t want to be abandoned again! 

Her heart cries within her, despair reaching out a pale hand toward the one friend who never left her. Who was _always_ there without fail.

That’s when she sees herself. 

Her skin, as white as a _stiff_ ’s. Her nails, black as a bloodless shell. She continues to look down at herself, trying to find anything else out of the ordinary, until she sees the golden downpour draping her body.

Her _hair_.

It’s longer than she’s ever worn it in her life, draping her hips like a coil of cursed riches.

“Vaggie…” she quivers, “what’s happening to me?”

The next shock of pain incinerates what’s left of her strength, forcing her to spasm until she faints into misery.

* * *

Charlie hasn’t let anyone into her room.

Not Vagatha, no doctors, not even the pastor from their church when he dropped by for a visit out of concern when she didn’t arrive at church to sing. She won’t see anyone. As expected, she was fired from her job, and the last time she went out, she saw their eyes. Horrified, suspicious, furious.

She can’t blame them.

Of course, that doesn’t mean Vagatha stops reaching out. She isn’t willing for her to go hungry, always knocking before leaving a plate of food at the door. Paella with chicken and extra lemon slices to squeeze. Spaghetti with homemade meat sauce. Even some tamales with juice and a ham sandwich.

Vagatha left a note on top of the napkin covering the sandwich, a request to let her see her after work. Charlie at first was going to tell her a firm ‘no’, but days wallowing in her despair without anyone to talk to was only making her more miserable. So, when Vagatha returns from the hospital, she is surprised to see Charlie’s door is left wide open.

When she enters, there Charlie sits up in her nightgown, her eyes rimmed with red from all the tears she’s cried. Her hair, shortened to her normal bob when Vagatha cut her hair, twinges on all sides from dishevelment. She reluctantly raises her face to Vagatha’s, and her guardian cannot stop herself from taking her into her arms and embracing her.

“ _Cariño_ …”

Charlie, once believing herself able to handle her emotion after days of no contact, already begins to shiver with relief, tears springing in her eyes when she returns the gesture. 

“V-Vaggie…” She sniffles miserably, burying her face in her shoulder.

Vagatha says nothing as Charlie breaks in her chest with all the sorrow she’s withheld in her loneliness.

“Vaggie…” She finally says with a croak. 

“Hm…?”

“What _happened_ to me?”

Vagatha can’t quite say, Looking at her charge with a hitch to her throat. What can she tell her?

That the woman she saw at the reception area was completely different in temperament and appearance from Charlie’s known appearance? That she almost killed Sebastian in a strange bout of rage? That she looked like a…demon?

That her eyes glowed like rubies in her sockets, her optics as bright as halos when she reached out to Vagatha.

A moment of reminisce goes back to the time of the orphanage, around the time Charlotte had to be punished for her singing and she sought refuge in the abandoned music room. When she came out, her hair was longer, and her skin was so pale, Vaggie thought she was sick. Yet her healthy color always returned in seconds, as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred at all. She didn’t think anything more of it at the time, but with what she saw…

_Is there a connection?_

“I…don’t know, Charlie. But we’re going to find you some help.”

“No… No… No one can help! I’ve already tried!!

Vagatha blinks, pushing Charlie back to look at her downcast face.

“Yes, we can, Charlie. We just need to find someone who can–”

“Vaggie, I’ve already **tried!** **”** She repeats, leaving Vaggie confused by her outburst.

“ _Look!”_

She opens the back of her hand in front of her face, but Vagatha has to back away to properly understand just what she’s showing her. Squinting hard, she sees a black shadow, barely noticeable under a dim light. Even with Charlie’s lamp on, it just looks like a discolored smudge. However, Vaggie can’t quite make it out.

“What…are you showing me exactly?”

“Look closer!”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she comes closer. 

“Do you see it?!”

“...No?”

Charlie then places her palm under the lamp, and _then,_ after she can see the way it forms in the light, Vagatha’s hand flies to her lips.

Even though it is blurred, she can make out the shape after a long study of it. A thin cross.

One at an upended angle.

And in the middle of the shaft of the cross, an indecipherable shape.

“An…inverted cross.” She fails to warm the chill climbing through her arms.

“You know what that is?!”

Vagatha’s lips press into a thin line. “My…dad used to play around with the occult. Before he went _loco_.”

Charlie gapes, a sharp gasp shaking through her.

“What did you say?!”

“Look, forget about it! But it has to do with the occult. Why is it on your hand?”

Charlie balks, appalled Vaggie would accuse her of putting such a sacrilegious thing on her own person.

“I’ve tried to wash it off!!” she screeches. “I stayed in here hoping it would go away! I even thought it was just a bruise, but it hasn’t gone away! It appeared ever since I woke up and– Vaggie, I’m so scared! I don’t know what to do!!”

Vaggie pulls her into her arms again when she grows hysterical, her breaths hyperventilating into her scrubs. Charlie is so frazzled, so beyond comfort when she shivers uncontrollably in her arms, blubbering incoherently of how ‘she’s going to hell’ or ‘the devil’s following her’. 

Vagatha shushes her as best as she can, not even getting up to make dinner when Charlie clings to her so tightly.

“Please, don’t let go…I’m scared to be alone!”

Her fingers thread through her yellow locks, thinking of anyone she can seek out for some answers. 

* * *

Abbess Judith didn’t expect such a late night visit, least of all from Vagatha on a work night!

Sister Ruth and Sister Esther look at each other in distress, unable to have stopped Vagatha’s tirade to get to the office with a timid Charlie in tow, her head bowed under a white cloche hat. While Abbess is always glad to see any children who are no longer part of the orphanage, she is no less chagrined the girl decided she has all right to barge in without an appointment.

Most especially when she decides to come in after hours.

“I’m sorry, Abbess, but we _need_ to talk to you.”

“I can see that.” she tuts, her headdress nowhere in sight. She’s in her robe, her long auburn hair draped over her shoulder in a thick braid. “I do hope it’s an urgent matter Vagatha, Charlotte.”

Charlie bows her head apologetically, but Vagatha is quick to whisper in Charlie’s ear. Abbess frowns at the hesitation in her eyes, but after her guardian whispers again, Charlie bows in submission. She comes forward, and Abbess Judith keenly notes at the way she shivers like a leaf when she removes a glove from her left hand.

Charlie presents the back, revealing a smudge on the skin. The Abbess scrutinizes the shadow, thinking it nothing more than a bruise or leftover ashes from the time she cleaned the chimney.

“What is the meaning of this?” She demands.

“Abbess, please, turn on your lamp.” Vagatha urges.

Abbess Judith sighs, shaking her head when she turns on the desk lamp.

The shadow is more decipherable, and she recoils in her seat. 

“Charlotte!!” she yaps, appalled.

“I can’t wash it off, Abbess!! I promise you, I would _never_ do something like this!” Charlie trembles, beseeching. “I would _never ever_ do this! Please believe me, Abbess! Please!”

Seeing the way her tears spill over her eyes, Abbess Judith’s correction dies on her lips.

Charlie’s shaking. Frightened. Pleading for her to understand. The old woman calms down, looking down at her opisthenar again with more consideration. Charlie was always honest and truly respected the beliefs she was raised on. She wouldn’t do something like this.

Did someone use ink on her, perhaps? Played a sort of cruel prank?

“She said it appeared after a commotion happened at the hospital I work at. I’ve seen her try to wash it off, and she says it doesn’t hurt, so it’s not a bruise. And the way it’s shaped…”

Vaggie places a hand to Charlie’s shoulder in comfort.

Only then does the dawn of understanding appear in Abbess Judith’s eye. A cold tremble of foreboding drapes her spirit, her breath stolen in a single moment. She leans back in her seat, her hand falling over her lips.

“Abbess…” She looks up, moved by Vaggie’s open worry. “Charlie’s parents. Did they have a disease or something hereditary that something like _that_ would appear on her skin?”

Abbess Judith breathes in deeply, before she releases a long exhale. “...Vagatha, I wish I had the answers you seek.”

Vaggie grimaces, her teeth peering behind her lips.

“...but I know the man who left Charlotte to us can give you exactly what you need.”

Charlie’s eyes beam, but the Abbess cannot share in the joy that her secret wish will be fulfilled to meet the man who anonymously sent her gifts for each birthday.

Vaggie steps forward, silent insistence in her approach. Abbess Judith can only shake her head sadly.

_I’m sorry, Mr. Lauer. But I’m afraid I need to break my promise to you._

* * *

Sebastian stomps out of the customized automobile, fraught with rage.

The last few days, he’s indulged himself to a few _cat houses,_ but the building fury piqued so hot, he had been _bum rushed_ from the last establishment when the most expensive bitch servicing him thought it wise to provoke him. She’s more than likely out of a job, with a broken nose and some missing teeth.

_Ha! Serves her right! Should have thought twice than to insult a paying customer._

His reaction, however, was not to be blamed on her _razzing._ No, but rather, of her long golden hair, her long black lashes, and her pretty smile. She didn’t look _exactly_ like the worthless _bim_ responsible for the discoloring on his neck, but close enough to upset him. Especially the length of her hair. At her waist in glorious ringlets, haloed atop her head like a beacon of fury.

Like the rage established in her sights, set to snuff his life in the grip of her tiny hands.

Whatever he saw in that normally timid _quiff_ wasn’t human. Not even an underlying sickness of the _noggin_ could have created that! Her black eyes glowed into a white furnace in the center of red sclera. Her skin went white, and he was sure the fangs he saw sharpened at her canines would rip his throat clean out.

He stills yet another shiver in his spine, nails angrily digging into his bicep. He’s had enough of the nightmares created by her infernal cackle, of the trauma caused by her malicious touch!

He’s a _fucking_ Von Eldridge.

 **No one** makes a fool of him!

Striding to the front door, he slams on the heavy mahogany. He’s going back to Spring Forest to kill that little bitch when he demands his father relinquish his guns to him. He’ll go back tonight and kill her in her sleep. He’ll _pop_ that fucking _pachuca_ while he’s at it if she thinks she can get in his way! She _had_ to have known what she harbored in her house. They both deserve to die, and he’ll be damned if anyone else does it!

Maybe while he’s at it, he’ll teach her a lesson in scaring him. He licks his lips of the vile plans he intends upon her, just before he’ll put a bullet in her temple. The mere imagination of her tear-streaked face, mourning her violation blossoms a greed that demands to be sated.

_Oh, I’m coming for you, Charlotte…_

When the door opens to him, he’s surprised to find no one greets him. Not the butler, nor his father, nor mother. Not even the gripes of his younger sister irritate his ear upon entrance, and instantly, a cold dread envelops him in the quiet hallways.

“Father?” The son commands. “Mother? Elsa?”

No one answers, though the lights remain on in the dining room ahead of him. However, the rest of the house remains dark and silent. Where are the household servants?

“ _Brooks!”_ he grinds out the butler’s name, patience lost when he feels the familiar crawl of heebie jeebies. “Get your fat ass over here!”

“Be right over!”

Sebastian reels, neither amused nor happy to hear a chipper voice he does not recognize. A new household servant? He was here only this morning.

“Don’t you have any manners?” titters the disembodied voice. 

“Who’s there? Show yourself!”

“Right here.”

Sebastian swivels on her toes, fists ready to strike behind him. From the little light reflecting through the dining room door, the heir can barely make out the pale face and the eerie grin. A tuft of blonde hair slicks back into a well maintained pompadour, save for a few rebellious strands of yellow fluttering toward his nose. His eyes are unusual, bright twin violets in the shadow, like a cat’s reflective gaze; but most of all, his cheeks are the rosiest shade of pink he only knows from one other person. 

Instantly, Sebastian steps back. Whoever this guy is, he knows he’s bad news. 

“Mr. Sebastian Harold von Eldridge, I presume?” 

“Who’s asking.”

“An old friend of your father’s. Whom, unfortunately, is not home as of this moment, nor is your mother, nor your sister.”

That’s strange. “...So, what? You let yourself in?”

“Dear me, no! That Brooks fellow did. Wonderful chap! Did me the honor of serving at dinner tonight! Won’t you join me in the dining room?”

The heir scrutinizes the stranger. “...What’s your name?”

The blonde stranger, walking by him with the grace Sebastian is certain can only belong to a ghost, gives him a sidelong glance.

“You can call me Mr. Lucien Cipher.”

Perplexed, he follows ‘Lucien Cipher’ into the dining room, looking back when he hears the door swing closed without any prompting. No one stands behind it. As he professed, he is the only one in the house, yet the table is prepared for more than one person. Far too much for one lone man. 

_Foi Gras au Torsion_. Four mushroom and spinach stuffed hearts. Meat pies for four. Four plates of _Tongues en Papillote_ and more.

Sebastian’s stomach protests his hesitation, watching the man with hawk-like precision. 

“Are you not hungry?” Lucien offers, elegantly gesturing to the enchanting dishes.

Each one is a display of art, an aesthetic both pleasing to the eye and delectable to the tongue. Sebastian lingers moments longer, before he at last takes a seat at the head of the table, while Lucien takes the other end.

“There’s a good lad. Take a load off. Have a ball. You never know when you’ve eaten your last!”

Baby blues glare across the table, not moving to take either wine nor place. His fists roll tight, shaking off the chill. He looks on either side, and behind him, but there’s no one else but them. They’re alone, with a chandelier as their lightsource, and the shadows beyond the door, vigilantly watching them from the outside. Lucien takes a plate for himself, pleasant smile unmoving.

The room feels small, his breaths tight, but the house guest simply dines with impeccable table manners and a delicate sip of his wine. Unperturbed by whatever plagues Sebastian. 

Why can’t he shake off the shivers? 

“...Where’s my father?”

Lucien cuts into his heart without looking up. “I told you, he’s not home.”

“Then where's Brooks?”

“Not here either.”

Sebastian grinds his teeth. “My mother? My _sister?”_

“All gone!” 

The answer is so nonchalant with a cheerful shrug, Sebastian has half a mind to pull out the hidden gun under the table and shoot him between the eyes _._

“So Brooks made this elaborate dinner, then left!?”

Now _that’s_ a load of _bushwa!_

Yet Lucien looks up from his glass, steady gaze holding the young heir in place. “I never said he _made_ dinner.”

Sebastian balks. “You just said he _did!”_

“No, lad…” he sips. “I said he was serving _at_ dinner.” 

The silence between them is a piercing cold. There’s only two ways that can be taken, and the other meaning has his stomach flipping somersaults. The sickness of this strange claustrophobia, this stranger’s _hinky_ eyes, his family’s disappearance, and now Brooks?

He knows what to ask now, and the _kike_ smirks from across the table, the crystal singing to his gloved finger sweeping the edges of his wine glass. He’s listening, _waiting,_ for Sebastian to connect the dots. The heir’s hand reaches under the table.

If he gives him the answer he’s hinting at, he’ll shoot him right here.

“...Who…” He licks his lips. “prepared this?”

“ _My_ chef.” Lucien pops a piece of meat between his teeth, chewing calmly.

“Are you,” Sebastian gulps. “…eating Brooks?”

The man’s smile widens when he takes another sip. 

“...Are you eating…my…”

Suddenly, he looks down at the plates, feeling the color drain from his clammy skin. 

_Kill him!_

**_Kill him!_ **

He reaches into the hidden compartment, ready to _burn powder_ , but Lucien raises a finger.

“Before you pull out that _bean shooter_ ,” Sebastian gawks, “I’ve been meaning to describe how each dish tastes.”

“I don’t want to know _shit,_ you sick son of a–”

His limbs freeze. His fingers are locked around the gun’s handle, no matter how much he shakes himself free. He strains, roaring in his seat but can’t move any of his limbs, not even his pinky. 

_What’s happening to me!?_

He can still swivel his neck, looking back to see if something’s holding him down. Nothing! He looks further back, then to his feet. Then he sees something odd about his shadow. What’s supposed to be a single shadow is instead a _legion_ of warped arms, holding him at every angle. He whimpers, hyperventilating as he squeezes his eyes shut and opens again in hopes he’s just in another nightmare!

Lucien remains calm, taking another bite of his dish. “This piece here…you can taste the saturation of whiskey deep in the meat. A bit of smokiness of Cuban cigars. Not a bad choice, but it tends to take away from the natural flavor.”

He forks a piece of the meat pie, dripping with a sauce with onions and herbs. He hums at the taste, leaning back in his seat with satisfaction. “Mm…That one. Now she was a fan of figs. The sweetness is a potpourri of flavor, especially with the salt in that gravy. Mm!”

Sebastian’s eyes sting with tears. His mother. Figs were always her favorite fruit, and sobs as he imagines what her last moments were like. He hopes she at least died quickly. She didn’t deserve that! Not even his father! She was good! The only one in their screwed up family who had anything good left in her heart! 

His sister, he knows, is being tried next from the plate of _Tongues en Papillote_. His _sister’s_ tongue. 

“Hm… Hmph…” Lucien chews, his face scrutinizing the taste. Then he takes a napkin and politely spits it into the fabric, sighing. “...Not my favorite.”

 _That bitch did more drugs than any_ **_dope fiend_ ** _I’ve ever known. Of course she’d taste like shit!_

Lucien leans forward, twining his fingers together to rest his chin. Twin amethysts settle on the trapped boy’s cerulean orbs, a tranquil gaze meeting the storming glower. 

“However…this meal is missing something. A _plat du jour_ that would tie everything else together."

Sebastian swallows, already predicting where he’s going with this, and he resolves to thrash once more. He’ll go down fighting if this _crackjob_ thinks he’ll be an easy kill. The cool metal of the revolver still rests in his palm, his face wet with sweat the harder he writhes about. Still to no avail, and Lucien’s grin begins to shift. Stretching across his face until it looks ready to split in two.

That’s when Sebastian takes note of the new paleness of the man’s skin. Before, it was the tone of a European who never indulged the sunlight, save for the rosiness of health on his cheeks. Now, his skin is a _stiff’s_ color, fresh from the grave. His sclera warp in the light, taking on a yellowish hue as his eyelids sink into a dark shade of mauve. No nose left to speak off either, giving an appearance more serpentine than human.

When his lips open, what Sebastian sees are the jaws of a shark, long sharp teeth rowing his mouth as a disembodied chuckle shakes the room with an evil toll of a funeral bell.

“The son.”

Suddenly, Sebastian can move, and he takes this chance to rip the revolver out of its compartment and draw it on the _fiend_ across from him. His periphery catches a glint of silver, and a hint of a sandalwood aroma. 

Wet warmth drips, and warms his torso, but his body feels so cold. He tries to breathe, but all that springs forth is a wet, metallic gurgle of blood. His hand catches his throat, amazed to feel a slice open on his jugular. 

_When did_ –?!

He loses mobility of his legs, but he tries to aim the gun once more, but his strength wanes too fast to pull the trigger.

“Uh–! Gah–!”

The _uptown egg_ falls onto the table, weakly gripping the table cloth as he attempts to pull himself upright, breathing only fountains of blood, feeling a piercing cold envelop his body. He falls to his knees, crawling backward to reach the wall to right himself, but his hand catches the ankle of another individual.

_Help!_

He attempts to cry out, hands reaching up take hold of a red pant leg. 

_Help me! Please!_

_“I̴m̵p̷s̴,̴ ̷t̸a̵k̶e̶ ̶c̸a̴r̶e̴ ̸o̸f̸ ̴t̶h̶e̵ ̴m̵e̶s̴s̶ ̷o̵n̷c̴e̸ ̵w̵e̵’̵r̸e̵ ̵d̵o̵n̶e̸...O̵h̴,̶ ̵a̷n̷d̵ ̵d̵e̶a̸r̶ ̶f̶r̵i̸e̴n̸d̸,̵ ̸e̵n̴j̶o̴y̴ ̵y̴o̶u̶r̴s̷e̵l̵f̷ ̶b̷u̷t̵ ̶d̴o̴n̵’̴t̸ ̶p̴l̶a̸y̶ ̸w̴i̶t̷h̸ ̸t̴h̶e̵ ̷f̴o̵o̸d̵ ̵t̸o̵o̶ ̴l̷o̷n̶g̶,̷ ̴w̷o̸u̵l̵d̴ ̶y̷o̸u̷?̵”_

Sounds are blurring, a cacophony of raging water and rushing air.

_“T̴h̸i̴s̴ ̴i̷s̶ ̷m̸e̷a̷n̸t̵ ̷t̶o̷ ̶b̶e̶ ̸a̵ ̵c̵e̷l̵e̷b̴r̷a̷t̸i̴o̵n̷…̷”_

When Sebastian looks up, he can only see a blurred visage of color, vision going in and out of focus. For a moment the world solidifies as he tries to make out the figure above him, who makes no attempt to aid him, falling on his back as numbness overtakes his limbs.

As the heir’s world turns to black, the only thing visible of the man cloaked in shadow is the sheen of light reflecting off his glasses, his brandished bloodied blade, and sadistic smile.

“Now then. _Let’s misbehave_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: We totally forgot to clarify that each chapter name will be a gift Charlie received each year from Husk or others. And yes, patients are that spoiled sometimes. I work as a receptionist at a Doctor's clinic X_X
> 
> I truly did not expect us to finish this chapter is such a short amount of time after I spent over a week trying to get the last The Red Stag's Graveyard chapter out. FurorNocturna is an absolute godsend of a cowriter, incredibly creative, and her knowledge of the 1920s just makes this story an absolute delight to create! Tune in for biweekly updates, follow us @FurorNocturna and @WifeoftheSoules for some Celestine, TRSG, Act III or in general Charlastor content, and remember to stay safe, healthy, wear your mask, and pray for our world to become more loving!
> 
> Adieu!
> 
> snatched - kidnap or take away
> 
> moniker - name
> 
> Not so good - I personally disapprove.
> 
> Oh yeah! - I doubt that!
> 
> Pachuca - Woman of Mexican descent
> 
> Kike - Racial slur for Polish people
> 
> Uptown - affluent or rich neighborhood/residential area 
> 
> Button - Face, nose, or end of jaw
> 
> Egg - man or rich man
> 
> Baby Doll - term for attractive woman
> 
> Crackjob - psychopath
> 
> Fiend - demon
> 
> bean shooter- gun
> 
> Keen - attractive or appealing
> 
> head doctor - a psychiatrist
> 
> cat house - whorehouse
> 
> Ese cabrón- That bastard
> 
> Quiff - slut
> 
> Noggin - head
> 
> dope fiend - drug addict
> 
> Hinky - Suspicious
> 
> Bushwa - Bullshit
> 
> Loco - crazy
> 
> hotsy-totsy - pleasing, all-that
> 
> upstage - snob, a stuck-up
> 
> chippy - woman of loose virtue
> 
> Bimbo - strong man
> 
> Pie-eyed - wide-eyed
> 
> icy mitt, to give someone - to reject someone’s affections
> 
> burn powder - to fire a gun  
> stiff - a corpse
> 
> razz - to tease
> 
> pop - kill
> 
> plat du jour - a dish specially prepared on a particular day


	3. Glass Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet little apple,
> 
> Don’t hide away.
> 
> Roll by the hill, 
> 
> As night falls to day.
> 
> Darling little apple,
> 
> You cannot flee.
> 
> For I, jolly Mephistopheles,
> 
> Have come to set you free.

_**John 8:7 NIV** When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.”_

* * *

Abbess Judith told them what she could about Corporal Garrick Evander Lauer. With the change of times, and the shifting political climate, she gave them her best clues to locate the veteran, frank in her description the man would seek solace at the bottom of a bottle.

The growing number of ‘speakeasies’ have been a well-known secret even Abbess came to learn only recently, the new law prompting an underground circuit of _juice joints._ To narrow it down, they need to go ‘bar-hopping’, and they are glad to know the whole movement should be relatively new. There shouldn’t be _that_ many to look through!

How so very wrong they were.

First stop. The ‘Edgewater Lounge’ on Andersonville.

“Excuse me, do you know where we can find Corporal Garrick Evander Lauer?”

“Ol’ Boozehound Husk?”

The girls blink, perplexed, but the bartender shrugs.

“He’s a regular, but ain’t here tonight.”

They _ankle_ to the next bar on their list, the ‘Green Mill’ in the Uptown area. Charlie had been hesitant about arriving at this one, as its location is near the Von Eldridge estate, yet her heart remains resolute. While she is glad she does not find the _uptown eggs_ , their search once more comes empty.

A _Joe Brooks_ gives them a sidelong glance, toking white smoke between his teeth as his eyes linger on Charlie. “Naw. Why? He owe ya fer some _nookie_ , _Toots_?”

The _Blind Pig_ and _Joe Brooks_ are left behind, the latter with a black eye courtesy of Vaggie.

Next is ‘The Golden Muse’, a piano bar in Lincoln Park.

A drunk patron turns angrily from the bar. “If ya _do_ find him, tell him he owes me a goddamn fortune! My wife kicked me out of my own house because of all the _mazuma_ I lost to him!”

 _He’s apparently a_ **_really_ ** _skilled gambler._ Charlie muses.

Two days of fruitless searching, another sigh falls as Charlie adjusts the gift basket in her elbow while Vaggie _gets lathered_ at the wasted daylight. Despite Charlie’s protests, she is unwilling for them to stay when the lamplights ignite.

“We are _not_ staying in the _Mud City_ past dark! It’s too dangerous, especially for _Janes_ at night!” her guardian grunts as they enter the train.

Charlie settles the gift basket on her lap, quelling another well of disappointment. While Vagatha’s rants and raves about ‘Ol’ Boozehound Husk’ — a nickname that sat none too well with Charlie for its meanness — are warranted, Charlie is unwilling to indulge the heavy cloud of hopelessness hovering above her. If she does, she’ll be tempted to give up.

“We have to keep trying.”

“I can’t keep calling in at work last minute, _mija.”_ Vaggie huffs, laying back in her seat with her fingers massaging her temples. “Two days seem reasonable, but doing it a third time would be cutting it close.”

“I can go by myself for a day–”

“Don’t even think about it.”

Charlie falls back in her seat. “Vaggie, you don’t always need to watch me. I _can_ take care of myself.”

“You are _not_ coming to the city by yourself. End of story.”

“I can come home before the sun sets!” she prods, careful to conceal her irritation.

Vaggie’s glance hardens. “I said _no._ Now, stop trying to convince me. _”_

“Vaggie!!”

“ _Charlotte_.”

Charlie tenses. Vaggie never calls her by her full name unless she means to anchor her attention. Her head never lifts from the seat, her temples under her generating fingertips. Her eyes remain closed but her charge sits up in full attention as though her eyes are on her.

“Let’s remember we had to go into facilities now made _illegal_ as of recently. What sort of man do you think we’re searching for if he’s _so_ well-known all over Chicago as ‘Ol Boozehound Husk’?”

“We haven’t met him ourselves, so we can’t judge him based off of hearsay!”

“People build reputations through the consistency of their actions _,_ Charlie. You _need_ to start listening to what others say.” Sharpness diluted by a dull headache, she hasn’t the strength to argue, especially where they can be heard. “Look, let’s talk about this at home. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Pale hands twist tighter on the gift basket, but she abides by her guardian’s wishes and holds her stormy tongue until they arrive to their stop.

Walking through Spring Forest has been a contentious past time as of late. Ever since the incident at the hospital, very few people have come to greet them. Elderly neighbors they often see waving in greeting run into their homes and slam the door in sight of them.

In sight of Charlie.

Vagatha refuses to pay any mind, but Charlie’s yellow head sinks to her chest, the basket falling lower and lower until it hangs off the wrist, barely grazing the dusty road.

“If you heard what _they_ say,” Charlie whispers at long last, tendrils of golden rivulets ghosted across her lips, “would you hate me too?”

Vaggie snaps her head around, gaping at the forlorn girl beside her. Under the lamplight, her heart clenches when she sees Charlie’s shaking bottom lip. The shining diamonds arched in her frightened eyes so heavy she’s certain she’ll weep on the spot, but she holds true to an eroding strength.

Her twin obsidians drown in fear, yet are still warm by a fragment of hope.

Vagatha pulls her into her arms, placing a kiss to her scalp. She promised she would protect her.

If her job fires her for taking time off for her charge, then they’re better off.

Charlie, in a hopelessly deprived state, walks herself into her bedroom, murmuring ‘goodnight’ so low, Vagatha can barely hear it. Earthen locks combed back in frustration, her head heavily falls back on the couch.

She doesn’t have much time to pray before a knock awakens her from a reverie. Frowning with a quick glance at the clock, she comes to her feet to unlock the door to Mrs. Salvador, and their church’s pastor. And more.

In fact, the whole choir stands at her porch, faces gilded in golden flames from the burning candles each one holds.

Vaggie gulps.

It was bad enough her workplace was giving her shit after the Incident. Having to suffer both choice words from more colorful patients, and even coworkers making snide comments about ‘harboring a demon’ at work. If the church was here to condemn them as well, Vaggie feared what it meant for their future.

They stare at each other silently, some murmuring a good evening.

Vagatha looks down at their hands. They were all carrying baskets of food, some wrapped in towels as steam pipe through the cloth, the steam filtering through the candlelight. She frowns suspiciously, breathing deeply and exhaling slowly, her fist still tight.

“Vagatha,” Mrs. Salvador begins, “...We’re not here to fight.” 

She crosses her arms. “What is it you guys want then?”

“We heard about what happened...”

“If we’re no longer accepted into the congregation, then good riddance!” She doesn’t mean it. Not even a little bit. She loves their church. Charlie loves the church and the choir with whom she spent the most fun after-mass lunches hearing the countless stories from the elderly couples. 

But if they no longer want Charlie apart of them because of some unexplainable phenomenon, then she’ll be with her every step of the way. Even leaving the place she’s come to love.

Only the pastor and choir look at each other, sadness and warmth tracing on their faces. The pastor, Pastor Bartholomew, steps forward, shaking his salt-and-pepper head.

“That’s not why we’re here, Vagatha.”

Mrs. Salvador steps forward then, a soft smile raised on her wrinkled face. She raises a container, piping hot through the cloth set atop. “We’re here to give you these.”

She raises the cloth from a fresh loaf of orange bread. A specialty of hers and one of Charlie’s favorite treats. Slack-jawed, her fists uncurl, eyes bulging out of her head when every choir member lifted his and her gift.

Mrs. Randall’s strudel cookies. Mr. Ford’s homemade fried chicken. Mr. and Mrs. Kingston’s homemade chicken pot pie.

Vagatha’s arms fall to her sides, gaping. Chastened by her brash behavior, she bows her head in shame, hiding her lips on the back of her knuckles. She can’t say _anything._

“We know who Charlotte really is, Vagatha.”

She looks up, swallowing back a lump in her throat.

“Everyone has a trial to go through. Their own demons to face. Whatever happened to her, know that she and you are in our prayers.”

“We’ve requested that the whole church prays for you.” Mr. Kingston adds.

Pastor Bartholomew comes forward, passing her a small box. “Some of my deer jerky. Charlotte said she wanted to try it.”

Vaggie accepts it with a gulp, not trusting herself to speak.

“Should uh…we help you put these in the ice box?”

She vigorously nods her head, unable to swallow back a sob when she steps out of the way to let them enter the house. “P-Please try to be quiet…Charlie’s sleeping…”

Mrs. Salvador wobbles over, gently taking Vaggie into her arms, shushing into her ear, and even the rest of the choir crowds around her, some placing their hands on her shoulders, others on her head. She begins to shake, fighting so hard to keep from sobbing.

Spring Forest is truly a town full of good people.

* * *

Vaggie was rapidly losing patience.

It’s their third day of searching and finishing a fourth _Blind Pig_ visit that’s once again a bust, and capped off by the lingering shivers from yet another disgusting patron’s crude pass at them. Charlie, blessedly _patient_ Charlie, remains optimistic, filling Vaggie’s over-tired ears with promises of ‘I’m sure _this_ is the right one’.

For the next two bar visits, it wasn’t.

“He’ll for sure be in the next one!”

Vagatha bites her tongue, but could not stifle an eye roll when they enter the Chipp Inn, east of Chicago’s Noble Square neighborhood. A smaller, more homey establishment. Green walls tighten the space at each side, and a gold painted tin ceiling beams from above, bulbed lamps bathing the patrons in warm light as they lean against the bar.

Charlie tugs the basket closer, awaiting the bartender to acknowledge her as Vagatha glowers around them, daring for any _birds_ to come near. The wait is short when the bartender arrives, polishing a tumblr in his hands as Charlie smiles politely, adjusting the blanket over the basket.

“Good afternoon.” Charlie greets. “Would you mind helping us with something?”

“Who’s asking?” he grunts.

“We’re just looking for Corporal Lauer? A Corporal Garrick Evander Lauer?”

“You mean Ol’ Boozehound Husk?”

She tenses, quite annoyed with the nickname at this point. “That’s…not very nice. No matter. Is he here?”

The bartender quirks a brow, rolling his eyes as he directs them towards a poker game on another side of the bar. Howling laughter erupts from the table where several men and one single woman sit, plumes of smoke choking the air as a single individual deals the cards, the rows hypnotically floating between his parted hands and then swept into an arch on the carpeted table. With deft, thick hands, he sweeps them in a single swoop before tossing them to each player.

A broad shouldered _bimbo,_ his temples are pale with poliosis, a single streak of white interrupting the harmony of a coarse pompadour of dark gray locks. Between his teeth, a maduro cigar, and on his left, a _flapper_ who coquettishly leans into his shoulder as he completes passing the cards.

The table silent, each player taking up their dealt hands, and Charlie suddenly feels herself pulled into the atmosphere of mute competitiveness. Vaggie keeps her nose covered, choked by the heaviness of tobacco as they near the competitors.

The _bimbo’s_ face remains impassive, and the girl on his shoulder keeps her eyes closed, giving away nothing to his competitors as his sharp eyes dart from each individual, gauging their faces.

“Laticia, I call.” His voice is deep and gruff, a thunderous quake of power and confidence.

Laticia, the single woman in the game, narrows her eyes, and it was all the rest of the table needed to echo in agreement. She tosses down her cards in a rage, a thick accent of Russian cursing the man and his _shlyukha_ across the table. She jumps to her feet and stomps away, uncaring when she shoves Charlie out of the way.

Vaggie catches her but before she could follow and give the woman a black eye, the blonde grabs her shoulder and shakes her head in protest.

“We’re here to find Corporal Lauer. I’d rather not get mixed up in a brawl while we’re here.”

Vaggie growls. “I’m putting a stop to this.”

“Vaggie, we can wait until they’re done with the game–!”

“ _¡En absoluto!_ We’ve wasted three days going through damn near every bar in this godforsaken city trying to find this _borracho imbécil_ and we are _not_ lingering in these seedy _cantinas_ longer than we have to!!” her guardian hisses, waving away Charlie’s protests as she bats away at the heavy smoke.

“Hey!” A simultaneous attention of eyes look up from their cards, most glaring daggers for the interruption. “Which one of you is ‘Ol’ Boozehound Husk’?”

The remaining players look to one another, the _baby grand_ raising a brow wordlessly, and his _snake charmer_ immediately sneers, her tone unwelcoming as she raises an elegant neck.

“Who’s asking?”

“Me. Now, which one of you is the guy we’re looking for?”

The players snort and chortle, one waving his _gasper_ at her in irritation. “ _Beat it_ , ya _bearcat_. We’re busy here.”

Charlie rushes to Vaggie’s side, taking her shoulder, but her guardian bars her approach with an outstretched arm. A long pause passes, the players returning to their game without giving Vaggie another moment of thought. With a deep breath, she storms over the game, and with a strength unforeseen in her small body, she swings both fists unto the table. 

_BANG!!!_

A powerful tremor topples glasses of everyone’s preferred _bootleg,_ winnings scattered in a torrent of clicks and clacks. Black, yellow, red, and brown merge into a rainbow of chaos, a choked surprise sounding from the players at the sheer audacity.

“We have been searching the entire city in every damned _cantina_ for the past THREE DAYS _!_ ” Her voice falls to a growl, a snarl twisting her nostrils.

Instead of anger, an intrigued eyebrow quirks of the man, yet the woman draped to his shoulders grows angrier with jealousy.

“We were told he was here today and at this table _. I am not in the mood for getting my chain yanked around any further on this fucking goose chase._ So I’m going to ask one last time, which one of you is Corporal Garrick Lauer?”

One man, smothering the end of his _dincher_ in an ashtray, comes to his feet, cracking his knuckles as he gradually towers over Vaggie. His shadowed brow tight with anger, his lips hike above clenched, yellow teeth. 

“Chatty bitch…” His breath rank of tobacco and booze, both girls instinctively cover their noses. “Ya know how long it took me to win all that _kale_?! All _fucking_ day!!”

“Tony!!” The man stands, startling the woman to fall from his lap with a yelp. “Sit yer ass down!”

“Naw! This _skirt_ owes me! _”_

Vaggie ignores Charlie’s attempts to pull her back by the arm, only doing as little as tugging a statue.

“You want a piece, _pal?”_ Vaggie grits, uncaring her temper fans into a forest fire as she raises her fists. “I’ll give–!”

Whatever she was going to say was lost as two fists went flying. One hers, reeled back for a hook, the other belonging to the _palooka_ getting up in her face, a haymaker coming for a direct hit.

It’s only seconds later when Charlie is already in front of her guardian, shielding her with the basket in front, that she sobers from her wrath. Vaggie lets out a shriek in protest, but it’s already too late.

Charlie shuts her eyes and braces herself for the hit.

Only it never comes.

A long pause of uncertainty, she cracks open a dark eye, to see her would-be attacker’s fist caught in the larger man’s. Up close, he looks like a giant, indomitable and unbeatable. The _yahoo_ struggles, but the _baby grand’s_ grip remains staunch. Almost casually, he withdraws a small handful of aces from the other’s sleeve.

“I knew you were a cheat. Didn’t think you’d be so low to hit a lady. How about you take on someone who knows how to hit _back_?”

Tony scrambles. “Goddammit, Husk!! Lemme go!! That bitch was asking for it!”

Charlie gasps, looking at the back of the soldier’s head. _That’s Mr. Lauer?! He’s built like a tank!!_

Corporal Lauer tugs on Tony’s wrist, until he is nose-to-nose with him. “Get yer ass outta here if you know what’s good for you. You feel me?”

The tactic sees to its end, with Tony wobbling to the doorway with a middle-finger behind him just as Lauer acknowledges the table.

“Sorry, boys, but more important matters came up. Gonna sit the rest of the game out.”

The table, and even the pouting flapper, stands in an uproar, but one glare from Lauer, and immediately their voices die down and their eyes look elsewhere.

“Sorry, sweetcheeks, but it looks like you might need to find someone else to walk you home.”

The flapper childishly slips out her tongue before she also stomps away to the bar, leaving him with the slack-jawed women.

Lauer faces them, and Charlie instinctively flinches, basket shielding her up to her eyes.

“H-Hello? Are you Mister Lauer? Er, I mean, Corporal Lauer?”

“Just call me Husk, kid.” He takes out the _dincher_ of his cigar, flicking it out.

He says it so gruffly, Charlie’s voice catches in her throat. Guardian and charge share a glance.

“Let’s have a seat.”

The girls follow obediently, tucking into an empty booth freshly cleaned of snacks and wasted droplets of _hooch._ Vagatha orders tea for both herself and Charlie when Husk orders himself another pint. He ignores the glower she gives in judgement.

“Um…thank you for saving us!” Charlie stutters at last.

“Whatever,” he huffs, annoyed by their stares. “What? Never seen a war vet before?”

"Uhhh...no, actually..." She holds out the basket for him, timidly pushing it out to him. "This is for you. For all the gifts you gave me.”

He eyes her suspiciously.

“I-I'm Charlie...or you might know me as Charlotte? Charlotte Celestine Magne? And this is Vaggie, my guardian. She’s the one who adopted me."

Vaggie nods, silent.

The eternal exhaustion that clings to his expression suddenly lightens, astonished when he looks down to her pendant. Then to her face. Then her pendant again, slow to register just who sits before him.

“Wait a damn minute…” he mulls. “‘Little Charlotte’?”

Charlie tilts her head. No one’s called her that ever since Pastor Ren!

“From St. Germain’s? You’re Mallory’s kid?”

"‘Mallory’?" Charlotte whispers blankly.

Husk catches himself. A thick hand pinches the bridge of his nose. _Did that old crow tell her who I was? Dammit!_

Charlie, lost to his chagrin, presses a hand to her chest when it dawns of her. "...Is that my mother's name?"

The war veteran shifts his eyes, regretful he spoke her name out loud when he sees the hope glowing on her face.

 _She’s got some fiery cheeks I’ve ever seen. Damn, this is going to break her heart._ “…Right. You were too little to really remember her during the short time you were with her.” He lays his arms on the table, leaning forward. “Her name was Mallory Farrow. Good gal overall, just…tended to get in over her head with things.”

Charlotte's eyes water with an unnamable emotion. All this time, she's never been given any sign as to who her mother is or what she looks like. Pressing the soft throb in her chest, she gathers herself with a deep breath.

"So her name is Mallory..." she whispers, biting her lips with uncertainty. Oh, but how she is so hungry for knowledge of her origins. "...Where is she? Can you tell me about her?"

He exhales deeply. “I can _tell_ you about her, but not where she is.”

She fights back her disappointment, but listens intently.

Husk wishes the _hooch_ can arrive faster. “Dark hair, sad eyes but a pretty smile when she wore one. Skittish but nice from what little I remember.”

“‘Little’? You mean you...” Charlie flushes, looking down to the table, “Weren’t married?”

Husk’s face burned, throwing around his large hands in a defensive gesture. “What?! No! No no no! It wasn’t anything like that! What gave you _that_ idea?!”

“Nothing!! I just assumed when– you know!! I received those gifts from you! And you know the name of my mother! No one else knows anything about her, let alone knew her!” She hides behind her hands, embarrassed for him and herself. “I’m sorry!” The blonde peeks behind her fingers. “...But…Please, will you tell me what you know…? It’s the first time I’m even hearing about her.” She drops her fingers, fiddling each digit near her chin. “...I want to know about my mom.”

A single finger raps on the table in contemplation, truly unsure if he should. He certainly doesn’t want to explain it sober.

As though God Himself finally has a lick of pity on him, the waitress arrives with their beverages. He takes a deep breath, a long drink, and gulps loud enough, it reverberates off the walls once he slams down the stout glass.

“She always wanted whiskey and pickles when she was carrying you. Liked shanties and showtunes. Awful singing voice, though, despite how much she loved it. She managed to get honest work at a bakery before…” he trails off, looking away.

The pair stare blankly, scrutinizing whether this revelation was based on truth or a drunkard’s ramble.

Vaggie, after shaking her head, balks aloud. "She _drank_ while carrying Charlie?! She could've killed her!!"

And the peace is broken.

“All I said was she _craved_ it! Not like I supplied her that! What do you take me for?!” Husk snapped.

"Vaggie…” Charlie breathes in deeply, placing a hand on her shoulder in exhaustion. _Please, don’t try to fight him._ “I'm fine. Not dead, see? I'm sorry, Mr. Husk, before what...?"

Husk takes another long drink before daring to answer. While she and he may not have been romantically involved, the memory of her still stings. A brother who lost his little sister with whom he had created a close bond, and the loss just as cutting. He threads his fingers together when he looks up, his weary eyes now bedraggled in sorrow.

“...I know you asked where she is and I’m sorry I can’t give you the answer you wanna hear. She passed in 1918. Was one of the poor souls who caught Influenza and couldn’t recover.”

"Oh..." Charlotte's whispers, hope dampened. There is a cold chill shivering up her arms, and she seeks out her teacup’s warmth. "I see..."

Vagatha's hand comes to rest on her shoulder, Charlotte mutely accepting the affection with a nod when she places a hand over hers.

 _Well… I shouldn’t mourn yet. Not when I can finally get some answers._ She looks up, frowning determinedly. "...I'm still very thankful to you, Mr. Husk. You didn't have to send me all of those gifts, but that you did made me feel less lonely. I thank you for that..."

Husk has a hard time meeting her gaze again, her openness somewhat of a blinding light to a jaded soul. He clears his throat, fighting back a blush. “…Don’t worry about it.”

Charlie then nudges the basket closer. "When we asked around about you, plenty of the bartenders told us you like cheese, in addition to alcohol. I didn't know what kind so I bought a big variety gift basket."

The man finds himself inspecting the thing and its contents, lifting the red-checkered blanket with a few blinks in surprise. Charlie wasn’t kidding about there being a lot of options. Even managed to snag quite a few favorites without knowing.

“You’re a funny _bird_ , kid.” he chuckles, taking one and popping a square of cheddar in his mouth.

Alas, the lull of goodwill is ephemeral.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but there's another reason she asked to seek you out." Vaggie looks over to Charlie, who shrinks. “You need to show him.”

Husk looks to and fro, fascinated by the fall of expression into the most depressing face he’s ever seen on the shine overflowing through the golden girl. Focused on her automatic response, he sees her reluctantly remove her leather glove to show him an off-colored…something beginning to take shape on the back.

He narrows his eyes in study, hissing as recognition hits. “… _Fuck_.”

The pair recoils, disgruntled toward his preferred language. "This appeared on her skin a little over a week ago. It's not a bruise, and she hasn’t been able to wash it off, so I know it isn’t ink. It also doesn’t help that it’s shaped like an _inverted cross_!!” Vaggie prattles off. “Considering you're the one who _abandoned_ her, maybe you can give us an explanation."

Unappreciative of the accusation, Husk leans forward, his powerful stature crouching when a fierce snarl peels over his teeth. “Watch it, _pachuca_. You don’t know shit about me to get to pass judgment on my choices!”

“Vaggie, he’s right! Please...” Only by Charlie’s request does Vaggie back off, the orphan analyzing Husk’s choice of reaction. “Mr. Husk, do you know what it is?”

Husk takes another big swig, until it completely empties into his throat. He needs hard liquor to get through _this_ upcoming shitshow. He slams down the empty glass, releasing a loud belch when he answers, much to the girls’ disgust.

“That’s no bruise, alright. Definitely a Mark that’s taking shape.”

The sight almost makes him sick. Both the bad omen energy and the memories he drinks to forget. Faces, bodies, possessions, and absolute nightmares come to life when he would enter a house to perform a job, only to learn the target was too far gone in the devilry of the occult.

“You know what it is then?” Charlie jumps, both relieved and frightened of his reaction.

“Yep.” He gives a grimaced sigh at their silent prompting for more. “Fine. The Mark’s an omen of Parousia and a signifier of your…heritage.”

 _What in the world is a ‘Parousia’?_ She’s certain she doesn’t want to know.

“My heritage? What? So my mother passed down a disease to me, after all?”

Husk pulls a face, raising his hand for another round. _If_ ONLY _it were that simple._ _Ugh!_ Why did _he_ have to get saddled with breaking the news of this clusterfuck? “Alright, there’s gonna be a lot of shit to unpack here, but the bottom line of it is that you’re the goddamn Antichrist.”

A hush falls over the table. Two pairs of unblinking bug-eyes stare astonished, jaws dropped open. Vaggie’s face is animated, mouth opening and closing, eyes rolling to and fro, between him, Charlie, and the crowd of people as though she means to find answers in the yowling drunks and tired staff.

“…What…?” Charlie at last finds her voice, somewhat shocked she can even speak.

“You’re the spawn of Lucifer.”

“ _WHAT?!”_

Her screech reaches across the entire bar, scaring even a deafened war major on the other side of the room to spill his drink. The noise cuts through the chatter, stopped for one moment before they resume the monotony whilst passing an irritated glance at the loud _dame._

“Yell louder. The rest of the Northeast didn’t hear ya.” Husk deadpans, ringing his ear out with his pinkie finger.

Vaggie pulls Charlie into her arms, trying to calm the now-hyperventilating woman. She speaks as her — enraged — mouthpiece when all she can do is blubber in her chest. "What the hell are you saying?! Why would you joke about mumbo-jumbo like that?!"

“Look, I fucking _wish_ I was _razzing_ ya. Unfortunately for all of us, I’m no comedian.” Husk explains. “See, in addition to serving in the infantry the last couple of wars, I’m also a soldier for a more…clandestine group. The kind that specializes in shit,” he points to Charlie’s hand, now hidden in her chest, “like this.”

He lets them soak in the information, Vaggie’s glare fiercer, yet Charlie can only peek one eye out from under her guardian's coat; an eye so hopeful for this to be a mad man's ravings. 

_Man, you’re just as scared as she was._ He somehow takes heart in her reaction. “And Mal unfortunately got herself involved with some real deep shit…”

Vaggie wants to call _horsefeathers._ Take her tea cup and toss the hot brew into his eyes for scaring Charlie like this. But the memory of what happened at the hospital gives enough gravity to the revelation. Even a hereditary disease wouldn’t have her hair grow out or elongate fangs in her small mouth.

“Mallory, your mom, she wasn’t always on the straight and narrow. Not outta her choice, mind you, but that’s the thing with shit groups like _cults_ ,” he spat the word like poison. “They prey on the vulnerable, the desperate, the down-on-their-luck, and they inculcate their twisted ideology into them to the point they no longer can think for themselves. Only what the cult wants them to think. There aren’t many people I know of who ever came back from such a process.

“When I was tasked to get Mal out, that’s what I was up against. Some poor _Jane_ who was thoroughly made into a _patsy_ by their manipulations and saw her involvement with the shady dealings as something of an honor to be a part of. Who took every attempt to show her reason as a slight on her and the cult. Her ‘family’.”

“That’s horrible.”

“That’s the Sect of Lyreb for ya. They’re not the first and won’t be the last cult out there, but they’re by far one of the worst I’ve ever dealt with. Among a bunch of deplorable shit I don’t even want to get into without another five stiff drinks in me, they picked Mal out of their female sectaries to childbear the Antichrist. By the way she explained it…” He pauses. To this day, what Mallory told him still doesn’t make sense. Then again, neither does the Virgin birth, and people are willing to die on that. “You were ‘placed’ inside of her. Not in the traditional sense, or even by injection, but simply, she woke up one day and you were conceived.”

“Like…she was a virgin?”

Husk snorts. “Nope, but she hadn’t been with anyone up to that point. Trust me, I already ruled that out.”

The girls stare skeptically.

“Take my word for it or don’t. That Mark should tell you otherwise, but it wasn’t until maybe a month into getting pregnant with you…even I don’t know how she did it, but something in her gave way and broke. The full ramifications of what was going on finally sunk in and Mal got scared. She looked me up and as I told her when I first spoke with her, I’d be there to help her out.”

Charlie and Vaggie watch, breaths not daring to sound above a whisper. All the more the blonde grows despaired, yet silently begs Husk to continue.

“With help from my contacts, I got her out and Mal was protected from those bastards. I was her main bodyguard and the one who was with her through the duration of her pregnancy until she gave birth. When you were born…” He pauses to take another drink, welcoming the haze beginning to take hold. “Well, we had an ultimatum. As Lucifer’s spawn, you were meant to set in motion the Apocalypse foretold in Revelations. The Knights of Enoch, they wanted the threat _bumped off_ , but Mal…she couldn’t bear the thought.

“I also stood by her choice. I’ve got enough blood on my hands as a soldier. I’m no baby killer, and I was able to convince the Knights to let you live. Besides, it’s forbidden in our code of honor to punish a child for the sins of the father or mother. However, Mal also knew she didn’t have the means to provide for you on her own and keep you hidden from the Sect of Lyreb in her care. That’s why she gave you up to St. Germain’s. Pastor Ren was an old friend of mine, and I knew you’d be safest under him. You see, if you had stayed with me instead, you would have grown up under the guardianship of Knights who would have watched your every move. Watch you sleep, eat, shower, even go to the can!”

Charlie gulps, her skin crawling.

“With Pastor Ren, and that crone of a matron–”

“Don’t talk about Abbess Judith like that!”

He waves off Vaggie’s chastening. “You grew up safe and protected out of the cult’s reach. I kept tabs on you to keep Mal in the loop when I could, and to see if anything regarding your Mark would emerge.” Husk looks down to Charlie’s necklace, refraining to admit every gift he’s given her has been blessed with holy water and Archaic prayers. He didn’t expect the gifts would make such an impact on her, thus he sees no need to cheapen their value in her eyes by telling her. He must admit, it’s nice to see she values them so much. “For the longest time, it looked like we were in the clear. No horns, no tail, no nothing. …Until now, that is.”

“‘Horns’? ‘Tail’?” Charlie speaks at last, lips trembling. “...You’re saying what I turned into was ‘incomplete’?!”

He tenses. “What are you saying?”

“That’s none of your business! Charlie, will you think about what he just said!! He belongs in a looney bin!”

“Then how do you explain the shape of the mark, Vaggie?! Because it certainly doesn’t look like any bruise I’ve ever seen! And if what he’s saying _is_ true, I don’t want to bring about the end of the world!!”

“At least there’s _that_ shred of consolation in this mess.” Husk mumbled. “Look, girlie, there’s another thing to consider. You ain’t the first to be chosen to bring about the End, and if we’re lucky, you sure as hell won’t be the last. So, if you’re willing to lend me your ear, and shut _Mrs. Grundy_ ’s trap, you can walk Scott-free outta this mess.”

Vaggie stews but holds her tongue, Charlie at last pulling away from her embrace. She’s still shaking, the seconds passing into minutes before she can breathe properly.

“Please…” Charlie whispers, as if in prayer. “Tell me what it will take to fix this!”

The veteran’s salt-and-pepper head rolls back in exasperation. If he knew, he would have done the deed himself; So, he speaks the first thing coming to mind. “...You could become a nun.” he stares up at the ceiling. “If you haven’t already popped your cherry.”

“Mr. Husk!!” Charlie squeaks, face overheating.

“Kid...” Husk leans over, devoid of embarrassment, taking his pint possessively. “I’m just giving you options. That’s only one route.You could also be a social worker, priestess, or a damn hermit. I can tell you now you’re down to a few choices, because now that you’ve started to mature, I can tell you any peace you knew is quickly about to end.” A calloused thumb rubs harshly into his fingers, a deep grimace full of heavy thoughts drenched in blood and shadows. Of sleepless nights, and countless losses. “You’re going to hear those bumps in the night and it ain’t gonna be the cat sneaking the last few licks of crumbs on the kitchen counter! You’ll be hearing wailings and it ain’t gonna be the wind. But worst of all, and this is the telltale sign of every demon who haunts you, you’ll start smelling the caustic burn of fire and brimstone... that’s when you know it’s too late.”

“And people get hurt…” Charlie added. The memory of it is still so blurry, but she envisions well the paleness which overtook her skin. The relish of power she felt then now fills her throat with bile! And with a cold chill of remembrance, she _did_ smell fire and brimstone on her own skin. If it happened once, it will surely happen again.

 _I could kill someone_. The weight in her stomach sways her to sickness. Sebastian treated her horribly, but never once would she wish his suffering, regardless of what he did to her! _I can’t do it. I don’t_ **_want_ ** _to do that! I’d rather die!_ Tears shine in her eyes, looking out to the crowds, not seeing criminals of the law for indulging a banned substance, but as fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers; sons and daughters, soldiers who served their country, immigrants who came for better opportunities. Every soul, as precious as the last.

As precious to God as the orphans in St. Germain’s.

 _This isn’t fair. Why would You do this to me? How can I stop this…?_ An idea sprouts. Whether it is an answer, or simple, wishful thinking, she takes a deep breath and faces Husk once more with feeble determination. “Then, would you be able to train me to do what you do? To…hunt demons?”

He doubles over the table, staring widely at her face, and even Vagatha’s glare turns into a gaping stare.

“Are you _off the deep end,_ Charlie?!”

The veteran is inclined to agree, shaking his head to be certain if he heard right. “Kid, no offense but dames ain’t exactly cut out to be demon hunters.”

Charlie cocks her head. “Why not?”

"Because to be a demon hunter, you need the countenance of a soldier. And the build." He looks her over, gesturing with his hand. "You're too petite, and you look ready to unleash some waterworks on the spot."

"I could do–"

"Ain't talkin' to you, _bearcat_. And you ain't the one who's cursed now, are you?" He knows well of Vagatha’s type. Fucking sufferage _bims_.

"Asshole!"

“Bitch.”

“ _Hijo de puta_!”

“ _Perra mierda_. _¿Pero tú de qué vas?_ ”

Vaggie reels, surprised to hear her native tongue in his retort.

"Soldier, sweetcheeks. Gotta know the lingo."

_Bang!_

Charlie harshly slams her palms on the table, but nowhere near as hard as Vaggie on the poker table. It does the trick, as both return their attention to her.

“This isn’t helping!” She turns to Vaggie sternly. “Stop thinking I’m helpless! Let me speak for myself!”

Shocked into silence, Vaggie leans back cautiously. In reaction, Charlie checks her hair again.

 _Still short._ _It’s fine… Breathe…_

Ever since the hospital, she’s been fighting back her temper more than ever, even though it’s a rare feat. She never wants a repeat of that incident.

Calming the rush of her annoyance, she addresses Husk once more. “Corporal, I know I’m…petite. I haven’t exactly spent my life to this point doing the kind of activity you’ve done for years. But were you or any of your brothers-in-arms battle ready on your first day of training?”

He already knows where this is going, leaning back with a grimace. "No, but neither did we have much to lose, kid. Demon hunters with families don't last long. I don’t have an heir or wife to speak of, or anyone to call family.”

Charlie’s heart tightens in compassion, even if it is a simple fact the soldier had long accepted.

“Considering the two of you, you got a _lot_ to lose."

“And I’m meant to bring the Apocalypse if I can’t do something about it.” Charlie counters. “ _Everyone_ has _everything_ to lose if that happens and I can’t allow that! I would quicker take _myself_ to the stake if you tell me it isn’t possible!”

“Charlie–!”

“No! I mean it, Vaggie! I won’t stand idly by if I’m meant to kill you or all these people! I won’t do it! I won’t!” She turns back to Husk. “If you say it’s impossible, I’ll take my life into my own hands and find a way myself! Even if I need to sacrifice myself!”

Husk crosses his arms, receptive and interested by her steady gaze. By her determination. _She’s got fire, I’ll give her that._ "Say I decide to train you.” he begins slowly. “Are you willing to pull the trigger on one innocent if it meant to save the many who will benefit from that death?"

The question hits hard and without mercy.

“Umm…” Charlie hesitates. “I would save everyone…”

“Kid, you want me to train you or not?”

“Yes.”

“Then answer the damn question.”

Charlie gulps. Taking a life for the greater good? In the Good Book, many verses speak of the sanctity of life, and she herself can’t look at a little bird’s egg without worrying about the mama bird who lost her unhatched baby. She wouldn’t if she could help it.

“Let me spell it out for you, Little Charlotte.”

She looks up at the familiar nickname, not hearing mockery, but neither does she feel warmth in its use.

“There will be a time you will need to make hard choices. One of them will involve choosing between the many and the one. Worst yet, it could be someone you love. Say Vaggie, for example. If you were to save Vaggie instead of a house full of people who will die in a fire, who would you choose? Would you save them? Or are you going to be selfish and save her and let the rest of them burn to a crisp?”

 _Could I do that?_ Her hands clench. She looks down, breaths deep and slow. Anxiety mounts and her heart hammers.

A hand curls over one of her fists, waking her from her reverie. She looks up to Vaggie, surprised to see a soft smile. “…I would rather you saved them.”

Charlie blinks.

“I know how you think, _mija._ You would be worried about how you would betray our friendship, right? And that you’ll be alone?”

Her lips tremble, before she nods.

Vaggie chuckles, shaking her head in soft exasperation. “You can’t stop worrying about others. Well, hun, let me put your mind at ease. I would die peacefully knowing you the saved countless lives. I would be watching you from heaven, proud with knowing that my death wouldn’t be in vain. If you _had_ saved me instead, however…” She looks away, eyes closing softly. “I myself couldn’t live with the guilt knowing my life was chosen over countless others.”

“...But I’ll still be…”

“Alone?”

Shamed, she looks away.

“Charlie…one day, I won’t be able to be here for you. Things will change, and that’s going to be the time you’ll have to make a decision. Are you going to do the right thing, or the thing you would be happiest with?”

Charlie loses her breath. Vaggie’s temper is awful, and yes, she tends to speak without thinking at times, but to Charlie, she has the fiercest loyalty she’s never known from _anyone._ She is a wonderful guardian, with a sister’s protective embrace, and a mother’s selflessness, and a warrior’s sense of duty. Powerful and loving to those who won her favor.

To lose her would be like losing her pillar of confidence. Yet, if she couldn’t live with life as a sole survivor, would Charlie be cruel to save her instead? She looks to the crowd, her hands, to Vaggie and even Husk, feeling herself disconnected and alone. Squeezing her hand back, she holds her like an anchor.

_Even God gave away His own son for the world’s salvation. I can’t imagine what that’s like..._

Humbled, calm, and resolute, Charlie looks back to Husk. She presses her lips, hesitating again when countless more reasons flash through her mind, but she staunches her rolling thoughts with a slow nod.

“For the sake of protecting the whole world, I will…do what I must.” She quivers. _I only pray it’s not something I must face soon._

 _It’s a roundabout answer, but it’s an answer_. Husk sighs heavily, rolling his hazel eyes. _Trainees are such a pain. It’s gonna be worse from a woman! I can’t_ _stand_ _tears._ “Don’t think it’s because I think you have what it takes. I’m just gonna show you the runaround and expect you to go home the next hour.”

Instead of offense, Charlie chuckles mirthlessly. “I promise you, I won’t.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“I mean it, Mr. Husk!”

“You’re dreaming, Little Charlotte.”

“Well, don’t _you_ have a dream?”

His answer is quick, frank, and without humor. “Dreams are for idiots. A man can only take so much disappointment.”

Charlie feels it. The weariness of the world in his voice, the broken hopes, and lost faith in all things and all people. It pains her. Pains her for him. Hesitantly, she reaches, brushing her fingers to his knuckles. He jerks, eyes wide at the contact, but he doesn’t pull back or reject when their eyes meet.

“If you think I’m an idiot, then fine. But it’s often those who dream who can change the future… If I can help you hope again, that’s another dream I intend to fulfill. To find a rainbow worth chasing again for you.”

He raises his brow, not sure what to say to that. She dreams of giving hope back to him? Yet as odd as she is, and as moronic as her plan is to train under him to avoid her destiny, he can’t help but want to protect that light he sees glowing through her eyes.

He lands a few pats on her hand before standing up, drinking the last of his stout with a loud burp.

“Would you stop that!! It’s rude!” Vaggie chastises.

“Mind your own business, _pa_ _chuca._ ”

“It’s Vaggie!”

Once they leave the bar, Husk walks them to the train station, holding the basket under his arm. “By the way, kid.”

Charlie and Vaggie glance at him through their cloche hats.

“If you’re serious about training, you’re gonna have to move up to Minnesota with me.”

* * *

Lucien rolls his second glass of red wine, claws clinking the glass as he looks down at the city. He’s been feeling her presence for the last three days, much closer than she has for the past five years.

Why is that? 

Well, it seems her little haven of a town has gained quite a few more faithful prayer devotees over the last half-decade. His snakes haven’t been able to enter that town since the day at the school house.

How so very annoying.

Grinning from ear to ear, he snaps, a flicker of green igniting from his fingers. From the green sparks, a circlet forms before him, until a clear picture appears before him, many thanks to one of his serpents spying on the new trio.

 _Ah, my dear. You’re becoming a true compendium of beauty…_ he fawns, sipping delicately. There is still some lingering baby fat around her cheeks, but her form fills into an elegance familiar to his wife’s.

However, his joy is short-lived, his eyes glowing into a vibrant red when he again ponders on the failure of his little group of _fanatics._

Oh well.

Their punishment was long overdue, and now that he has a visual of Charlotte, he can finally carry it out.

“Moxxie. Do give _him_ a call.”

The imp is quick to dial the phone on command, raising the receiver for his sire to take hold with only minimal cowering.

When a smooth transatlantic accent answers with chipper flair from the line, Lucien shares a dark laugh when his smile upturns sharply.

“Dear friend, I have a favor to ask.”

The cackle on the other side of the receiver fills him with a palpable ecstasy, knowing of the chaos to unfold in the near future.

“Are you familiar with the Sect of Lyreb, by chance?”

**‘Not at all, my good fellow! Should I?’**

“No, it’s not important. When you get the chance, I need you to find them. Look for that emblem of theirs: the one with the upended malformed cross and the pentagram. Ready some new ingredients for dinner over the next month or so.”

**‘I’ll see to that. Anything else?’**

“We’re going to be very busy going forward. So much to do, so many preparations, all of which will require lots of fine tuning and careful attention to detail. It will be no simple feat and there can be _n̷o̴ ̴m̴i̶s̸t̸a̴k̸e̶s̸._ ” Lucien delineates. “Are you up for the task?”

He can practically feel his associate’s grin split across his face.

 **‘Rest assured, I have it handled. You always have such** **_fun_ ** **assignments for me. I can hardly wait to get started.’**

“Good man. I’ll keep you posted on the specifics once the Sect is dealt with.”

**‘I’m off then. _Abyssinia_.’**

The call ends, and Lucien turns back to the sight of his daughter through his snakes’ eyes. How laughable that she believed she could outrun her destiny.

Which is why it would be all the more frabjous to allow her to think that she could until it came time for her eventual subjugation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ::Omake::
> 
> Husk: No, I ain’t training ya!
> 
> Charlie: I’ll get you more cheese!
> 
> Husk: What? You think you can buy me with some puppy eyes and some free cheese? …Well ya can!
> 
> You know what? We wanted to make an apocalypse AU where religious people DON'T suddenly raise their torches and pitchforks because MOST OF THEM ARE NOT ALL LIKE THAT!! I would know.
> 
> On another note, HUSK HAS ENTERED THE FRAY AND HE IS A BADASS!!! AND WHAT IS CHARLIE TO DO?! And when will we meet ALASTOR?!
> 
> And oooooh dear, just who could ‘Lucien’ be talking to? Fufufufufu…
> 
> Stay tuned, my darlings! We shall meet our beloved Radio Host in due time ;) 
> 
> Once again, God BLESS Furornocturna for her amazing ideas, contribution, research, and editing skills. I’m so dependent on her at this point! TT_TT
> 
> Parousia - another term for Second Coming
> 
> ankle - walk
> 
> uptown - affluent or rich neighborhood/residential area
> 
> egg - a person, affluent person
> 
> Joe Brooks - a sharp dresser
> 
> nookie - sex
> 
> Blind Pig - speakeasy
> 
> mazuma, kale - money
> 
> Mud City - nickname of Chicago
> 
> Jane, bim, skirt, dame - a woman
> 
> mija - Spanish term of endearment
> 
> bird - strange man or woman
> 
> bimbo - strong man
> 
> flapper - modern woman of the 1920s
> 
> shlyukha - whore in Russian
> 
> ¡En absoluto! - exclamation, “Absolutely not!”
> 
> borracho imbécil - drunkard idiot
> 
> baby grand - strong man
> 
> snake charmer - attractive female
> 
> gasper - cigarette
> 
> bearcat - fiery woman
> 
> bootleg - illegal homemade alcohol
> 
> juice joint - speakeasy
> 
> pal - ‘friend’, can be used sincerely or sarcastically
> 
> palooka - moron
> 
> yahoo - violent, loud, or rude person
> 
> dincher - half-smoked cigarette
> 
> hooch - alcohol
> 
> Pachuca - term for Mexican
> 
> razz - to tease, mess with
> 
> horsefeathers - an explicative
> 
> patsy - to play someone for a fool, make a chump out of someone
> 
> bump off - to kill
> 
> Mrs Grundy - A ‘stick in the mud’ woman.
> 
> off the deep end - crazy
> 
> Hijo de puta - son of a bitch
> 
> Perra mierda - fucking dog/bitch
> 
> ¿Pero tú de qué vas? - who do you think you are?
> 
> Abyssinia - as in interjection, slang for “I’ll be seeing ya!”


	4. Quilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She comes, the thunderous lightening,
> 
> A gaping jaw of bloody fury.
> 
> She comes, the demon's foundling, 
> 
> To fell the wrongs deeming her unworthy.

**2 Timothy 3: 1-5 NIV** But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. **2** People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, **3** without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, **4** treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God— **5** having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with such people.

* * *

Vagatha takes a long drink of water, a cool rag placed over her neck when she hears a dull thud.

“Again!”

Looking behind her, she clenches at the sight of Charlie lying back to the dirted floor of yet another failed attempt to disarm Husk of his wooden pole. Looking between the two of them, the young woman looks so tiny and pathetic to the bear-like mass of the Corporal, alarming Vagatha to rush to her aid. Husk doesn’t look back when she steps unto the training field, gesturing the pole arm behind him.

“You stay where you are.”

Ignoring him, she continues toward the crumpled woman. “You’re too hard on her!”

“She needs to do this herself.”

“Vaggie, _stay back!”_

Her guardian stills, bewildered.

As Charlie shakes back to her feet, her glare is soft in its plea. She speaks no more, even as more purple bruises welt her arms and shins, yet Vagatha knows better than to approach any further, for her charge’s determination still glows under her discomfort.

_I have to do this on my own._

Taking up her polearm again, she takes a deep breath when Husk takes position, straddling into horse stance with the tip of his pole pointed to the floor. She breathes out, searching for any openings, taking stance when she rushes.

The moment she blinks, she’s flipping through the air again, scraping against rough sand on collision. The wind knocks out of her lungs, teeth biting back the sheet of tears building in her eyes when she rolls to her side, coughing for breath.

“Again!”

Three days in, and she’s barely functional. Vagatha wasn’t exaggerating when she revealed Charlie can't so much as hold a fist. Husk regards her coldly, pushing the pole head into her ribs. He’s got his work cut out for him.

“You cry, you’re done. Again!” he harshly prods.

“Stop it!” Charlie bats away the pole, hiding her face. She stubbornly bites back her emotions, counting with each breath. “I just need a moment…”

The Corporal rolls his eyes. “A demon ain’t gonna give you a moment. There’s gonna be far worse out there than this that you’re going to be up against. Either tough it out, or call it quits now so we stop wasting time.”

Gulping, she reaches out for the pole again.

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry!_

She comes to her feet again, succeeding in quelling the childish acrimony toward her teacher. Husk takes position. She looks so small in her training dress, the glare on her face so out of place. He’ll commend her for sticking around for three days, when he was none too kind by waking her at 0300 hours and training well into the evening hours. Barely giving her any time to eat or sleep.

Three days, and she still keeps a tight hold over her rage and indignation. Had the Mark not already manifested, he would have thought she is just a regular human. Most trainees tend to break by the third morning, yet she hasn’t so much as cursed.

 _Hmph… She can’t fight worth her salt, but she’s got a_ hell _of a lot more patience than most. We’ll see how the rest of the day pans out._

“Come at me.”

More than ten dozens of failed disarming attempts later, including a bloody nose, a split lip, bruised ribs, and a few visible knots protruding through her arms and legs, night falls upon them.

Charlie limps against Vaggie, who is currently releasing a few choice slurs in Spanish, words Husk gives no real attention to translate when he walks by them to go into the kitchen. Charlie’s arm over her shoulder, Vaggie carries her whole weight into her designated bedroom, finally quieting her insults into cooing comforts into his student’s ear. At the fridge, Husk sneaks a glance at Charlie’s head.

Looking over her body, her arms are purple and scratched, and her legs wobble like brittle tree branches.

All that, and still nothing.

Husk sighs to himself when she can barely raise her head, even before the door closes behind them. Years ago, when first learning to train his subordinates, a younger Drill Sergeant Garrick Evander Lauer once questioned his own methods as too harsh, when many-a screaming greenhorn fell to his hand-to-hand combat; yet the longer he was asked to train subordinates, the less remorse he felt. The sheen of tears now fill him with disgust.

Each time he saw her tear up, the revulsion reared, and his words were quick to cut, yet she stubbornly fought those crystals hanging in her eyes with a fierce determination. She said she won’t cry, and while she technically had been, she still kept standing, still kept trying. They weren’t tears asking for pity, but simply, showed her frustration. Even though those abominable droplets grew, she still rushed him with ferocity.

Still, she’s no fighter. Not by a long shot.

He shakes his head, going to the fridge when he hears the door close. With a beer in hand to combat the miring thoughts, he walks out to the bungalo's porch overlooking the lake. The dewy air calms a storm of doubts, fireflies veering from one direction to another, tantalizing the weary soldier with the hypnotic dance that relaxes him into the bench.

Before he could uncap the bottle for the nectar to swoon him into another dreamless sleep, he’s suddenly joined by another figure. A whiff of a combination of perfume and sweat, and he already feels a headache coming on. His eyebrows bob lazily over to Vaggie, her perma-frown deeper than normal. He doesn’t bother asking what’s got her into another _lather,_ since he can guess the subject.

“What the hell was _that?_ ”

“I made myself clear right out of the gate I wasn’t going to go easy on her with training. I warned you both several times how this was gonna be and Charlie agreed to it.”

“You’re treating her like a dog!”

“She’ll be _dog food_ unless she can put up a decent fight. And since you’ve clearly never come face to face with an honest to god demon before,” He pauses to uncap the bottle, placing the lip on a designated spot on the bench where the wood is gnarled and uneven. One push, and another divot appears on the armrest, the bottle fizzing with air bubbles.

With one swig, and a deep gulp, he continues, not looking at her. “I’ll tell ya firsthand they’re miles more creative, colorful, and cutting with the kind of language they’ll spout to break a person than I’ve been the last handful of days.”

Vaggie grimaces, growling when she walks up the wooden railing. “This is just bullshit. She shouldn’t even _be_ here.”

He tips the bottle again. “If I play nice, she’ll get the wrong idea about how unforgiving this line of work is. If she can’t handle me, she won't be able to handle the real deal. The sooner she learns where she falls, the better.”

She glares at him, but he still evades her eye. He’s not in the mood to entertain her temper, and so, pretends her presence was just another trunk of fir. A prickly, angry, annoying fir. He fights a smirk when she finally looks away, feeling the satisfaction of victory.

“...I’m sorry.”

Husk jerks. _What the fuck?_ This time, he does look up, but now, it’s her eyes glued to the lake. He didn’t think she was capable of being nice, let alone _apologize!_

“You’re trying to help, I get that. Just, please don’t let her think you hate her if you don’t? _Comprendes_?”

Husk gives her a non-committal hum, but Vaggie doesn’t press further. They sit longer in silence, Husk taking long, thoughtful swigs.

“I need to know the limit of the demon within her.”

She snaps her eyes behind her, earths bulging out of her sockets.

“Once I know that, then we’ll know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

“Isn’t that dangerous? _”_

“Yeah. It’s also informative. Until I see it for myself, I can’t gauge her strength, her mentality _,_ or teach her how to harness that thing in her.” He raises his gaze to her, and for the first time, he sees fear in her eyes. “ _Comprendes?”_

Looking away, she does not ask any more that evening.

* * *

Another week, and she’s fumbling on the obstacle course, hanging on slippery monkey bars. The air is damp with heavy rains, with the windchill carrying with it an awful gust of slush that made a firm grip impossible.

“In through your nose, out through your mouth, kid.” Husk calls from below, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Even with those instructions, she struggles to grip tightly, trying to keep from looking at the mud beneath her. Taking deep, gulping breaths, she reaches over…

Then slips.

Freefalling, she screams when she falls face first into the mud. An assault of ice and mud pierces into her bones, a shocked screech ripping through the air when she pulls her arms around her soaked uniform. Her sleeves are soaked through, teeth chattering, and she feels the awful sting of tears behind her eyelids. She roughly dries her face, only to smear a streak of dirt and grime on her face.

Husk trudges toward her, but makes no move to help her up.

“Get your ass up.”

“Rrrghhh…” Her nails bite into her palms, fighting to hold her temper.

Husk raises a brow, grimacing. “Want a reminder as to who your superior is, private? I said _get your ass up!”_

“ _ **𝕊** **t** o **𝕡** **i** **𝕥** **…**_ ”

He hears it then. _Ah, now we’re getting somewhere._ A voice not like her own. Deepened, and warped. Like two voices vibrating through her lips.

Hell, he _sees_ it. Her water-and-grime soaked hair grows. Her skin turns the faintest shade of ivory, but the telltale sign he wants does not emerge. He comes to a crouch in front of her, resting his elbows on his knees with a snarl.

“The hell you just say to me?”

“𝕀 𝕤 **a** i𝕕 _s𝕥_ ** _o_** _p_ ** _!_** _”_

Satisfactory results aside, he needs _more_.

He grabs a fistful of her shoulder pads, yanking her to her feet, only pulling harder when the ground gives way under her boots. She slips, and he pulls her to meet his sneer. Only moments of their eyes meeting, he sees a golden shine in the center of a bloodshot gaze before he throws her into the mud. She slides across from the force, until she’s half-buried under the muck, gunk slipping into her sleeves and freezing her from inside the nylon.

“You ready to give up, crybaby maggot?!”

Groaning, Charlie slips when she tries to push herself up again.

“You ready to call it quits? I _knew_ you didn’t have what it takes from the beginning.”

Sobs cut through the rain. “ **Y 𝕠 𝕦’r e w 𝕣 𝕠 n 𝕘**!”

“You’re just a little candy-ass _Dumb Dora_ who thinks the world can be saved just because you said so! Well, wake up and smell the coffee, you worthless little bitch! You can’t save the world and you never will if you can’t clear this shit! This is kid stuff! You’re a hellspawn! The little, cumstain puppet of the Devil himself! _That’s all you are_!! _You’re_ **_pathetic!_** ”

“ **S̷̡̍ͅ** **ℍ𝕌𝕋** **Ü̴̯** **ℙ** **!̴̱̍!̵̡̹̍̀** ”

Ten days.

That’s how long it took for him to finally find the breaking point. When he starts to take a whiff of the telltale sulfuric aroma, he backs away when her eyes burn through sodden hair and dirt-caked face.

Though, he has to wonder just how hard did she have it before if it had to take that long. An itch of regret is crushed under his resolve, steeled when she jumps herself to her feet, floating from the power of her legs.

He doesn’t jump back nor gasp at the shout renting the field, a reverb of wrathful vindication. When she lands back on the mud, Husk analyzes the changes, seeing as her travel dress is now pulled above her ankles, just short of her boots. Her wrists are uncovered too, an indication she grew a full foot. The girl is already taller than average, and now she looks at Husk like her equal in height. Golden irises like halos rest in boiling sclera, colored the perfect hue of blood. Lips hike over a pair of canines elongated into fangs, and skin as white as snow. A corpse’s skin sucked of all blood from the veins.

Her hair shows the most magnificent change, now a marvelous mane of gold. If it weren’t for the sopping muss of water and grime, he is certain it would flow like a cape. He now thinks back to all the times she habitually tugs on her little bob, wondering if there have been times her temper would amplify the length and volume before she fully shifted.

Strangely, there are neither horns nor a tail.

He can study for only a moment, before she leaps again, her clawed hand catching the monkey bars.

Just one hand.

Swinging back, she gains momentum in a single thrust of her legs, a deafening roar breaking through Husk’s ears when she flies forward, clearing two obstacle courses with a single jump. Husk’s jaw drops when she lands nimbly on her hands and feet at the top of a wooden tower, clearing both ladder and rope needed to arrive at the top. Her snarl, even from afar, destroyed the beauty of the young woman’s kind disposition, a complete outcry from her plump, red cheeks and eternally smiling lips.

Vaggie runs past him, awakening him from his daze when he grabs her wrist and yanks her back.

“ _¡Déjame ir, bastardo idiota!!_ _You did this!!!”_

Husk ignores her, calmly tucking his hand into his jacket while his eyes remain on Charlie’s demon as she begins to recoil for another leap into the forestry.

“Is this the thing you mentioned she ‘turned into’ back at the Chipp Inn?”

He doesn’t wait for her answer when he pulls out a gun, and Vaggie’s heart drops as he aims.

“No! _Deténgase!!_ _”_

A single gunshot echoes across the grounds.

* * *

Her head is pounding.

“You _shot_ her?!”

Too loud.

“No, it was a blank– _no shit I shot her!_ ”

Pain… just pain…

“And _why_ , pray tell, did you SHOOT HER!??”

“It’s the least messy option. And like hell I’m gonna let a demon, one of Lucifer’s _blood kin_ no less, run rampant and unrestrained. I knew where to hit her, so quit your whining.”

She’s being roughly handled, yet she’s unable to move herself. She doesn’t really want to move from the warm, plush spot where she’s lain, whimpering when she turns from the voices, attempting to drown them out in her pillow. “Uuh!”

“Charlie?!”

The dim light is no less painful to her eyes, creaking open a crack to see the blurred figures. Another squeeze of her eyes, and she opens them again, the figures now solidifying into her guardian and her new mentor. She recognizes her designated bedroom, the unpacked boxes cornered near the door. Vaggie’s expression is deeply etched with worry, her hands busy with wrapping her shoulder.

That’s when she takes note of the painful surge overtaking her whole arm.

“It hurts… Why does it hurt…?”

Vaggie looks back. “Blame numb-nuts here.”

Husk shrugs. “You transformed and I needed to incapacitate you.”

“Because _you forced her!”_

“Stop yelling… My head hurts…”

Immediately, her guardian snaps her mouth closed, bowing her head apologetically.

Silence stretches into an an awkward, painful pause. Vaggie slowly resumes wrapping Charlie’s arm, with Husk silently watching the half-conscious girl through the corner of his eye until she falls into steady breaths of the dreamless.

* * *

Wakefulness comes with a lazy knock on her bedroom door. Charlie’s eyes begin to flutter, once more narrowed in confusion, rolling heavily to see her window too dark to look through. Only the twilight of the lost day greets her, the sparkle of the lake shining under the moonlight.

_Did…Did I sleep most of the day away?_

Another knock. “Hey, kid. You awake?”

“Corporal…?” She attempts to push herself up, only for the pain of the bullet wound to keep her in place when her head falls back into the pillow before she could think coherently back to the conversation of Vaggie and the Corporal earlier.

_I heard Vaggie say he shot me… but I don’t remember anything._

Is it safe to invite him in? Maybe not. Regardless…

She doesn’t feel afraid. 

“...Come in…” _Good heavens!_ Her voice sounds like she’s been screaming for hours non-stop. How very accurate her description is, however, when her body succumbed to the rage of the demon and released a thunderous screech.

The door opens to reveal Husk, before he stoops down to the floor to pick up something, both hands now occupied with two steaming mugs. The soft beckon of hot chocolate immediately melts away the pain of her headache, and her tongue salivates for a taste.

He walks in silently, her eyes — the only appendages of her body without the searing pain leaving her immobile — following the mugs thirstily. Husk pauses for a moment from her intense stare, blinking when he follows it to the mug. A flicker of his lips ghosts a small smirk, barely what one can consider a smile, but it catches the girl’s attention immediately.

“Feel well enough to drink it?”

She shakes her head. “Do you have a straw?”

“Way ahead of you.” He procures a straw from his pocket as soon as he places down her cup on the nightstand.

A smile is painful, so she could barely give much of a quirk, before closing her eyes to focus. “...Will you help me sit up?”

Husk obliges wordlessly, Charlie watching as he props up pillows behind her. She situates herself upright, and the two sit in silence.

Unable to resist the chocolatey allure any longer, Charlie tries taking a sip. The keyword ‘try’, on account of her shaky hands impeding what was otherwise a simple task.

After a few failed attempts, Husk takes her mug back and holds it to her lips for her.

A part of her is put out by the necessitated assistance, but she nods her thanks anyway and focuses more on the yummy drink warming her insides and uplifting her mood.

The air soon turns awkward from prolonged silence.

“...Mr. Husk?”

He raises his face from his mug, one Charlie can already imagine is spiked with some kind of liquor. While she didn’t find his habit healthy, something about the normalcy puts her at ease, yet the moment his cobalt blue eyes meet with hers, the question dies on her tongue.

If she could move more easily, she would be twiddling her fingers.

When he shakes his head in exasperation, she’s pressured to finally bring the concern to light.

“Um… When I woke up earlier…” She stops again, and even tries to bring the mug toward her lips again.

Her desire to drown out the awkwardness is much larger than satiating the curiosity glowing in his jaded stare, so much she pushes herself to bring the straw close. Charlie sips a little longer than necessary. Husk eventually must be the one to take a hold of the straw and pull it off of her lips.

She gapes at him uncertainly when he narrows his gaze. “You got something to say?”

A deep breath inhaled, she looks at him, lips pressed into a shy line of unease. He rolls his eyes but doesn’t ask anymore.

“...Did…you...” She still can’t bring herself to speak it outloud, instead gesturing to her wrapped shoulder. Blood seeps through the gauze, before she raises her eyes to him again.

The corporal understands her actions then, lowering the mug a little when his expression hardens. Charlie’s stomach rolls with sickness, her throat gulping dryly. Husk opens his mouth to answer but catches himself. He mulls his thoughts over before releasing a sigh.

“Let me say my full piece first, okay?” 

She doesn’t respond, instead licking her lips uncomfortably.

“The short of it is yes, I did shoot you. I’d also do it again if I had to in order to subdue your demon side. There’s too much neither of us know about it and how it works. Taking a non-lethal shot was better than waiting to see if you’d destroy the house or hurt your guardian.”

Lashes flutter in astonishment. He said it so easily, like it was as easy as shooting off a water moccasin in the lake. And she’s seen him do it!

“It‘s a terrible thing to grow numb to. To point a weapon like this and pull the trigger without thinking twice. That’s what comes with being a soldier, with being a hunter,” he trails on, voice flat.

_It makes an effective soldier. It’s a necessity._

_It’s also shit, and you really wanna engrain this into a sweet kid like this? To_ **Mal’s** _kid?_

_Look what it’s done to you._

“It’s part of being a hunter, right?” She looks down, unable to look at his face. “To not be careless when dealing with demons?”

“Yep. And you’re still sure you want to do this?”

Charlie’s neck cranes slightly. She’s heard him ask her this question over and over on end, but this was the first time she ever heard it sound pleading.

“...I can’t say at the moment.” She answers honestly.

Husk’s eyes close. “...As much as I disagree with your guardian on a lot of things, she does know what she’s talking about when it comes to your character. The kind of heart and head on your shoulders you got? That’s a rarity in this crazy world. Something real special. She’s scared to death that something will one day crush that.”

He leans back in his seat, the mug placed on his lap. “I don’t want that something to be me.”

_Not that I really have any right to talk anymore after putting a bullet in your shoulder._

“...Thank you.”

He scrutinizes her. If anything, he should be expecting her to tell him to let her sleep, because she would be way too nice to tell him to leave directly. “For?”

“Stopping me.” There’s a new light in her eyes, a new inspiration. Seeing Husk like this: _concerned_. Just seeing the way he hesitates, and resigns himself to the seat. “You care much more than you let on.”

“...You’re the daughter of my close friend. ‘Course I give a shit.”

“...Did you just tell me that because you were too lazy to lie or you really are that honest?”

“I’ll be leaving that up to you, Little Charlotte.” This time, she _does_ see the elusive smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes for long, but it has enough humor, the glimpse as brief as a firefly’s blinking glow.

Charlie smiles then, looking down at her hands settled in her lap. She doesn’t ask him then for the hot chocolate, for she’s still somewhat embarrassed to be rendered to a babe. That sip would have been a contemplative taste, her decision made by the time it would have reached her lap.

“…As soon as I recover, I want to continue. I _have_ to.”

His grizzly eyebrows pinch. “But _why?_ Of all the options I presented to you, why _this_ one?”

Charlie doesn’t answer, still putting together the sentence in her head. Within herself, she’s at war. Common sense argues going to a convent would be easier, making a life as a nun still just as honorable, and she would be experiencing less bruises.

On the other hand…

She knows herself too well. She would be far too anxious. She needed to be outside, experience how people are taking care of themselves, and she can’t simply spend the rest of her days safely behind the walls of a church as a prayer warrior. She’d be too anxious to sit on her knees for long hours before the altar.

“I can’t stand idly by when I hear about how there are so many people suffering of late. How there are criminals who are not given any means to reform their lives after prison–”

Husk fights a cringe at that. He had made an effort to keep her from seeing the extent of graphic details regarding criminals freshly released from prison.

Tried to, anyway. He realizes then that he wasn’t as successful as he intended for.

_Not all of them were looking to turn over a new leaf despite what you want to believe, kiddo._

The veteran hopes she’s _only_ seen the tamer cases like the recently released from incarceration. Especially the Louisiana clippings of disappearances and grizzly murders.

No amount of _bootleg_ would be enough for him to touch _that_ mess if Charlie found out and questioned him about it.

“–or when children run about without parents to feel safe with. I mean, there’s a disease wreaking havoc, and my mother became one of its victims! Soldiers returned changed after the war! Do you have any idea how many kept screaming at night at the hospital Vaggie and I worked at?”

Husk doesn’t answer, looking away uncomfortably. He _does_ know. All too well.

“People wronged for what they look like, or families fighting against their own sons and daughters. The news speaks of earthquakes and fires and I always feel so helpless knowing I’m not there helping! I can’t sit in a church praying! I need to learn to fight so I can actually _save_ them from these disasters! And then maybe, I can make myself a place in heaven!”

A bushy brow quirks, spurring her to explain quickly.

“I don’t want to go to Hell just because I’m the Devil’s daughter! I don’t! Why should I when I didn’t even get to choose my own father!? If I don’t fight demons on their field, I'm not doing enough! Mr. Husk, please! Even if you need to shoot me again, just _please_ don’t turn me away! I can’t stop! I’m too scared of stopping!”

Wet droplets fall from her eyes and she gasps at the realization she’s crying…

Crying in fear, desperation, _hope_ that Husk will not make her stop due to this one setback.

“...I don’t want to go to Hell…And I don’t want to send the world into Hell...” she gulps, lowering her head. The blanket balls in her fists, gasping and sniffling. Each drop a prayer he’ll agree.

With a bated breath, she waits for his answer. For his protests, his further prying if she’s certain or even attempts to dissuade her.

Only it doesn’t come.

Charlie is taken by surprise when a thick, heavy hand gently places itself to her head. It stays there, then softly ruffles her bob. She turns her bloodshot eyes to him, only he does not look at her, but the floor.

Husk is conflicted, even frightened for her. She’s too good of a person, and he wants to tell her to stop. Her plea strikes true, and her observations raise some deep concerns weighing heavy on his mind. Fires and earthquakes. Families dividing, nations of races at each other's throats.

As much as he loathes to think about it, she’s inadvertently naming each sign written in the Sacred Tome. The Good Book itself.

The signs of the Apocalypse.

The world is showing the path of its future, and when Husk takes another look at her hand, where the mark appears just a slight more decipherable, he knows he shouldn’t turn her away.

“...Why did it have to be _you?”_ he murmurs, sorrow laced in his gruff voice.

Charlie blinks.

“You don’t deserve any of this. _Least of all,_ you.”

Even though it’s painful to move, she raises her uninjured arm, reaching up to take his hand from her head, squeezing back. Husk understands the message, wrapping his hand around her smaller one, lowering their wrapped grasp to her face. She stares unfalteringly at his face, her voice soft and firm.

“I would rather it was me than anyone else.”

_Of course you would…_

Smiling ruefully, he returns a soft squeeze before gingerly lowering her hand to her lap, then picks up her hot chocolate to raise it to her lips.

“Finish this and go to sleep. Soon as you’re able to move, we’ll get you back on course.”

_Mal…Damn, I wish to Heaven and back you got to meet her. You would have been proud of the way she is._

He’ll just have to be proud of Charlie in his friend’s stead.

* * *

Charlie kept her word alright, and Husk held her to it on his end.

He never pulled punches and she kept getting back up each time she was knocked down. Even when he had to subdue her demon, Charlie would not yield in her perseverance. Before long, she stumbled less and less…

He watched her clumsiness hone to graceful leaps, reflexes sharpened to use her smaller stature to her benefit, even learning to use Husk’s larger weight against him.

He still won every match, much to his conceit.

Much like a butterfly’s metamorphosis, her thin figure developed, toned muscles formed from every rigorous task, with a gymnast’s limber flexibility making her a force to be reckoned with. What he is proudest of, from the passing years he’s had to remind her the cruelty she is to face, is her compassion. Never once did she stop talking about the ‘rainbow’ she wants to chase, and most of all, wants _him_ to chase. Often, his own happiness and the well-being of others never left her mind, and with every succession of training, she grew more and more confident in her ability to save those less fortunate.

Husk is still not optimistic, unfortunately. Not with the continuation of the news speaking of more earthquakes and fires and plagues overtaking the nation. Even talk of war…

He shakes off the chills, once more reminded of the mark on her skin. Everything ties into that mark and what she’s prophesied to bring.

Maybe, just _maybe,_ once she’s out on the field, she can finally turn it all around. It’s the closest thing to optimism he’ll dare to consider. They had plenty of options just going off looking for a place where a lot of people were in need of help.

However, they also needed to choose a location that was close. The last thing they wanted was to have to deal with finance issues on top of demonic ones just to move cross-country. They also needed somewhere preferably familiar so Charlie could adapt fairly quickly to her surroundings.

Luckily the girls’ original home city fit the bill, and that’s when he announced the news where they were going to be moving by the end of the month.

“Chicago!? Why would you have us move back to _Chicago_ for her to fight demons?!”

“‘Cause Chicago is full of problems.” Husk points with his fork, before going back to mixing his scrambled eggs and bacon. “Hell, a third of it burning to the ground in 1871 couldn’t cleanse it. If there’s anywhere that’s a breeding ground for demons and in need of a saving grace, it’s that crapsack city.”

In contrast, Charlie begins jumping and clapping. "Vaggie, it's perfect!!"

"We moved _out_ of Chicago _because_ it's a crapsack city!" She stands from the table, throwing up her arms. What began as a quiet breakfast now becomes pandemonium of conflict!

“The whole point is for me to go somewhere to help! A place like Chicago needs a lot of help!” Charlie defends.

Vaggie looks away. She wasn’t happy about it, but at this point, it was two against one. If there is anything Charlie’s learned from her, it’s her stubbornness, and with an ally, Vaggie’s outvoted. Charlie’s come a long way, mastering many a fighting form under Husk’s instruction, from weapons to hand to hand combat, to learning the old texts of the Old Tomes written in Latin and even Hebrew. 

Even Vaggie learned some of these texts with Charlie like a classmate, while also familiarizing herself with the spear. She wasn’t simply going to stand on the sidelines while she could make herself a helpful ally to Charlie. Husk proved himself a harsh teacher, even giving Vagatha a run for her money in stamina. It was grueling.

Clearly, Husk is confident enough in their growth to present the idea of moving back to the place of their birth in Illinois. Ironic, that the city they grew up in would become a cesspit of demonic activity.

Shaking her head, she comes to her feet, needing to do something else to occupy her mind, so she retrieves the orange juice and looks back to the table. “Ugh…Who wants refills?”

“Ooh! Me, please!”

“There any more coffee?” Husk grunts.

The guardian looks over, watching Charlie’s face. One thing she’s glad to see is her excitement to make a difference. Chicago can be swallowed up in the bowels of hell for all she cares, but for her charge, the excitement is palpable.

Her eyes are open and sparkling, hands moving animatedly as she pumps her fists in the air against invisible enemies. It’s better than the day how she dreaded moving away from Spring Forest. Away from the church and the choir.

 _Five years ago now_ , Vagatha realizes.

Charlie had wept in Mrs. Salvador’s arms when she took it upon herself to be the one to announce their move, choking with tears when she assured them it was not to the town’s wariness of her that they would be leaving for a time. Vaggie still marvels at the way she eloquently described it.

_“...This is a trial God has put in my path, and that path is away from Spring Forest. I wish it wasn’t so…but what I have to face is something I am unable to face here.”_

At the time, she was so hurt at the possibility of leaving, and now, Vaggie can hardly see the wound of separating herself from the comforts of Spring Forest. It’s a moment of gladness to see, but she does wonder if Charlie would ask to visit.

 _I wonder how everyone’s been myself. Might be good for her._ Walking over with the requested beverages, an idea comes to her.

“Why can’t we move back to Spring Forest? It’s not far from Chicago by train.”

Nodding his thanks, Husk sips before shaking his head. “We have to be in the thick of it if we hope to have any chance of staying on top of the trouble before it worsens. You can’t fight an enemy without at least some of your forces on the front lines. You have to be on that vanguard for this to work.”

Charlie’s shoulders sag. She actually liked the idea of going back to Spring Forest, but she allowed herself to fully trust in Husk’s judgement. Still, she can’t help but wonder how the choir is doing.

The orphans, too, never fully left her mind.

_I hope Abbess Judith has been well to run it. I miss them so much..._

“Demons have an agenda, and they stick to the shadows for a reason. They don’t want to be seen. You _have_ to be the one to sniff them out first. The infantry and the juggernaut. How can you be the first on the scene if you have to take an hour on the train?”

Charlie bites her lip, just as Vaggie rolls her eyes in exasperation. “That may be, but she can relax from time to time. She’s not an official hunter! Besides, Charlie, don’t you want to see the choir? What about the orphans at St. Germain’s?”

She looks up, eyes vibrant. “I want to see them, of course!”

Husk impatiently knocks on the wooden table to gain their attention. “Kid, get your facts straight and take another look at your hand.”

She tenses, looking over to her hand in reaction. Even gloved, she still feels its black omen like a weight.

“You lost every opportunity to have a normal life as long as that shit is on your skin! You _can’t_ take the fate of the world lightly.”

Her hands curl into soft fists, until she pulls them both into her lap, ashamed of her Mark. “Yes, sir…”

He pointedly ignores Vagatha’s glare, until he _must_ turn when she slams down her dish into the sink. “ _Pachuca,_ are you trying to break the plates?!”

Vaggie’s glare is all he receives as an answer, until an edge breaks through her tone when she nudges into the kitchen. “We need to talk.”

 _Oh, mag_ -fucking- _nificent…_

As soon as they are out of earshot, Husk immediately takes stance, crossing his arms in resolution. “I’m telling her like it is.” he begins without allowing her to speak. “There’s no sugarcoating the reality of what she’s going to be facing. She _has_ to know what she’s getting into, warts and all.”

Vaggie, too, sees no reason to back down, instead harshly pointing to the floor in verbal combat.

“I’m not saying sugarcoat or coddle her!” she reams back, breathing in and out before she continues calmly. “Just…give a little _something_ encouraging in between the brutal honesty so her spirit isn’t crushed altogether. She won’t be able to do this if she’s too soft, but neither will she be able to do it if she’s nothing but a h…shell.”

Husk knows what she nearly said, rolling his eyes when he gives Charlie a glance. Her lowered head, her dismal expression instantly narrows his eyes. All of it does something to him then, unlike the times he’s had other trainees.

Whiny brats who wept at the smallest splinter who were under the impression war was the way to a hero’s greatness. Glory, fortune, fame! Idiots only joined the ranks for such short-lived things. War is ugly and bloody, and Husk came home less than half the man he used to be, disillusioned by the screams and adrenaline-inducing _fear_ he had as a constant companion out in those trenches.

Charlie is different from the kids he molded into men. She never chose her destiny. Even given the different options in occupation, She found this to be the best alternative to preventing the End Times. She was different because this was never about the glory, but to protect the entire world. She was a little lamb who chose to face the slaughter head-on. 

Self-sacrificing...

Husk doesn’t look back to Vagatha, consciously constricting his pride from rearing its ugly head, mainly because he knows she’s right.

He releases a long, surrendering sigh, turning around when he rubs the back of his neck. “...Look, kid. If you prove you can keep up with the workload, I’ll give you permission to _perhaps_ see your little orphan friends. Or what’s left of them.”

He grunts when the _pachuca_ ’s elbow budges into his ribs.

The veteran would have released a torrent of curses, had he not already seen Charlie turn fully in her seat, eyes wide and sparkling with a flutter of her impossibly long lashes. “We’ll stop by, if you want. Just to see if Judith has anything she’d allow you to do as a volunteer.”

She comes to her feet, hands clasping firmly together as though in prayer, hope so bright in her stare, Husk nearly finds himself faltering in laying down the grounds of this new deal.

“ _Not_ as a job!”

Her smile grows larger.

“That’s it.” he shrugs, unsure of what else she may be waiting for.

He doesn’t see her coming. Literally! He blinks one moment, and then the next, he sees two pairs of arms and a veil of gold draping his shoulder in a tight embrace. Charlie’s arms hold tightly behind his back, startling the Corporal to take a couple of steps back in self-defense, but she only follows step by step!

His arms remain hovering in his awkward confusion, looking between Vaggie and the head resting on his chest. Vaggie, most amused, does not assist him, deciding instead to shrug in feigned innocence.

 _Maldita perra!_ Husk nearly says, until a muffled response warms his shirt.

“Thank you, Mr. Husk!! Thank you so much! I’ll work hard! I promise, but you don’t understand how much this means to me!”

As she continues, strange droplets of liquid dab at his shirt, starling him to freeze in her arms when he understands she’s _crying!_ When he looks again to Vaggie for help, she’s already leaving the kitchen with a flippant gesture of her hand!

_That puffed-up little–!!_

“Hey, hey hey!! I said no crying!! Dammit!” Still, he makes no attempt to remove her from himself, unwilling to look at her as he feels his face flush with embarrassment.

* * *

The move went relatively smoothly, despite taking a few weeks to fully make the transition.

It took a bit of time to both pack everything for the move then settle into the Chicagoan bungalow and unpack it all, but Charlie’s influence made the chore of it significantly less of a pain, singing all the way like she sang on the stages of Broadway. Even Husk must admit, it was nice to listen to when one needs to pass the time.

One week in at the new house, Husk was busy putting up the different liquors and beverages in his personal ‘island’ in the kitchen, making Vagatha curse under her breath of his ‘degenerate behavior’ while she’s guiding the movers where to put the living room items.

Charlie was busy aligning her furniture, with the first thing she plugged being her personal radio. She switches it on, switching from song to song, listening to each and every radio host in charge of their respective stations detachedly.

 _Not to say they’re bad, but they’re not_ **him** ** _…_ **

She laughs at herself, leaning over her table to peer out to their new backyard. “I still wonder what happened to you.”

She listens to the drone of the radio host she settled on, muting her thoughts with the current news.

**_~~Good Morning, Chicago! It’s a beautiful Saturday morning this day of March 15th, 1924! While you can expect the early hours to remain chilly, the weather is finally starting to warming up and…~~_ **

“Hey, Little Charlotte?”

She looks behind her, seeing Husk lean against the doorpost, arms crossed with a neutral expression. “Got a moment?”

“Sure!”

“Take it you like the new place?”

“I do!” Charlie claps her hands, turning fully as though she tries to hide her musings of a certain radio host.

“That’s good,” he reaches into his back pocket, pulling something out of his wallet. A slip of paper is offered to her. “I wanted to give ya something.”

Tilting her head curiously, she comes forward to see that it is a photograph he presents to her. The black and white grafting shows a little baby cradled in the arms of a brunette woman, who looks somewhat tired. She’s awfully plain, but her smile is large and genuine, holding the baby close like a prized trinket.

Charlie looks up to Husk in question.

“Found it when going through my junk back at the Minnesota house for the move. Took that not long after you were born.”

Her onyx stare pops wide with wonder, urgently committing the woman’s face to memory. Her mother…

Her mother, Mallory, and _her_ as a baby!!

“Mal always kept that with her. A day didn’t go by when she didn’t think of you and could never wait to hear the updates I’d give. Believe me when I say Mal loved you, even if she couldn’t care for you herself.” he rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably, clearing his throat behind a fist. “...She would have been proud, you know?”

The photo is pulled close to her chest, head bowing when a wave of emotion overwhelms her eyes with unshed tears. It just won’t do to cry in front of him, even happy tears…

“Thank you…”

The moment between them is calm, and somewhat awkward when Husk unfortunately took note of the familiar emotion in her face. Coughing uncomfortably, he quickly shifts subjects.

“After we’re done getting the house together, what do you want to eat for dinner? My treat.”

Immediately, her smile beams, a sparkle in her eye when the first place she could think of blurts from her lips in the midst of a single second.

“Ice cream!!”

“That’s not dinner.” Husk deadpans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We sincerely apologize for the delay! Blame it on some nasty insecurities and drawing content, but the point! We are very much still on top of getting these chapters out to you, dearest readers! We hope you enjoy our double chapter release!!
> 
> 1920s summary
> 
> Dumb Dora - an unintelligent female
> 
> greenhorn - rookie
> 
> pachuca - Term used for Mexicans at the time
> 
> ¡Déjame ir, bastardo idiota! - Let me go, you idiot bastard!
> 
> Deténgase - Stop
> 
> Comprendes? - Understand?
> 
> pachuca - Term used for Mexicans at the time


	5. Pinafore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost brothers, Lost sisters
> 
> A fanfare's lost strain.
> 
> Dazzling stars are lost in dust,
> 
> Forgotten like a kindling's dying pain.

**John 15:13 NIV “** Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

* * *

“To our new lives!” Charlie raises her spoon, Vaggie shaking her head with a whimsical smile while Husk remains neutral, but complies in raising his tableware with the girls’.

Charlie won out in the end. Of course, they had an actual dinner first of Vagatha’s meatloaf. A clink of a silver salute, and Charlie galvanizes her chocolate dessert with sprinkles while Vaggie eats her cantaloupe flavored treat with more decorum, chuckling. With every slow bite, Husk grimaces.

Yet being around him long enough, Charlie has long noted when the lightness around his eyes lifts at the downturn of his lips, she immediately knows it’s the closest thing he’ll do when he’s having a pleasant time.

 _What would he look like with a smile on his face?_ she wonders, spoon lingering on her bottom lip.

Her musings are abruptly derailed by a sinking feeling.

Charlie’s first thought was that it was only minor indigestion. However it wasn’t so much an icky feeling as it was this sudden bout of dread and wariness. Like an alarm of danger.

“What’s that look for, kid? Upset stomach?”

“I told you not to eat too fast, hun.”

“Yeah,” Charlie chuckles. “I’m gonna go step out and get some air to see if I feel better.”

“Okay, but don’t wander too far. It’s getting dark.” Vaggie cautions.

“I won’t.”

The shop bell rings again as she steps outside, her face met with the crisp cool evening breeze. The feeling persists, if a bit stronger now.

As her eyes drift about her surroundings, she spots a figure or two turning into one of Chicago’s many alleys.

She doesn’t want to assume, but the feeling spikes into an ache. The sound of metal clanking and echoing swears further augments the ache into a pain. Even if she couldn’t quite explain it, something was wrong. _Very_ wrong.

Without second thought, Charlie darts down the street to the mouth of that alleyway.

She doesn’t enter it yet, taking in the scene of toppled trash cans and the perpetrators.

A group of fellas, three in total from what she could tell in the dim lighting, dressed in worn suits and matching hats. Save for the trail of smoke from one’s lit cigarette and the center standing man’s heavier build, nothing else really distinguished them apart from one another.

They stood in a spread out formation, like wolves closing in on cornered prey.

At the center of it was a…lady.

A very, _very_ tall lady.

Long _gams_ tucks into fitting sleek stilettos, a scandalously short dress sparkling under the lamplight complimenting the rest of her lithe figure nicely. Her bob sits messily in blond curls, her headdress ajar with a bent feather, slanted on her cheek.

“What’s the rush? Stick around and stay awhile!”

“Yeah c’mon, babe! We just offered ya a very generous proposition!”

“And I told ya to _beat it_ and exactly where you could stick your ‘generous proposition’!” the tall lady shot back.

Charlie furrows her brow. _Doesn’t sound like she’s from here with that accent. Although her voice sounds…off somehow?_

The three men close in on her, and Charlie can’t bring herself to stand idly! She goes toward the parlor to call Vaggie and Husk for help, but as soon as she sees one of the men take a fist full on the lady’s dress, Charlie books it down into the alleyway. She’ll accept whatever punishment Husk will give her, but she can’t walk away knowing there’s someone in trouble.

“H-Hey!”

All at once, all eyes were on her and Charlie's moment of confidence immediately falters.

The gangsters look her up and down suggestively, one’s grin brimming like a gator’s. A sick twist of invasion crawls around her gut, instinctively folding her arms around herself, as though hiding her nakedness, though she’s fully clothed. “Ya need somethin’, toots?”

“Y-Yes! Um...” Charlie frowns determinedly. “Leave her alone!”

The woman blinks, her jaw dropped open when the three of them bark like hyenas, screeching howls uplifted in a cacophony of jeers. Her bravery remains resolute, albeit under the embarrassed flush of her cheeks. 

“I-I mean it! Let her go and–”

“Move along, _kitten_.” the tall lady chimes in.

Once more, Charlie is thrown for a loop. “I…but…aren’t you–?”

The lady’s heterochromic, blue and green gaze leveled her with a look. “Listen, babe. I’m a hot _dish_ , maybe I’m in a bit of a jam, but I got this. Toodaloo! Buh-bye! _Ciao_! Have a nice day!”

“Yeah! Scram, ya broad!”

“No hang on, Joey. Why not let her stick around? The more the merrier.”

The one who spoke approaches, his leer all the more unpleasant the better she can see him in the lamplight. Her hands remain tucked to her person, but she succeeds against her urge to retreat a step. There’s something…seedier than usual about this one from the others. The way his tongue darts between his teeth, and the way his eyes gleam.

He reeks of smoke. “Yer quite the little _live wire,_ ain’cha?”

Charlie doesn’t answer, narrowing her eyes the closer he comes.

“But ya got a pretty face. Real ripe _tomato_.” He circles her, studying her hungrily. “What do ya say, boys?” 

“‘Ey, _pal!”_ the lady calls, urgency in her voice. “Yer _beef’s_ with me! Leave out the _Dumb Dora_ and pick on someone yer own size! You’ll find I’m plenty! I for sure got loads more to offer!” 

“‘ _Dumb Dora’?”_ Charlie balks. “I’m trying to help!”

“ _Toots,_ yer makin’ this _worse_ for the both of us!”

A hand grabs her shoulder, and the blond can only react.

Her hand balls into a little fist. At the twist of her heel,she faces the _goon_ hovering over her shoulder. _Under the jaw._ There are no flashbacks of the last five years, of her fists flying into Husk’s face. Simple reaction takes her into flight, her fist landing a well-placed _kisser_ on the pressure point of his jawline.

The goon flies back, his body floating from momentum, and the extremely hefty haymaker he’s never felt from any woman. She’s learned to harness her power, only manifesting it in brief discharges when she needs to make a strong hit, sending the man flying backwards.

“Zeke?!”

His hat flutters in a grimy puddle near the dumpster by the time Charlie understands what she just did. She gasps, dropping her hands.

 _Oh, did I use too much? I could have broken his jaw!_ “...Are you ok?”

“Oh _now_ you've done it!” the tall lady groans, incredibly flabbergasted the girl was asking her assailant for his wellbeing. _What is_ up _with this broad!?_

“You little _bitch!!”_

Charlie looks up to see the second man rushing her, a knife procured from his pocket when she suddenly blanks! She jumps back, yelping when a slash of silver nearly nicks her nose, shreds of blond hair cut from her fringe. She steps on something, her heels entangled in the crook of the first goon’s armpit. ‘Joey’ twists his switchblade, sweeping for an upward curve when Charlie can’t keep her balance, falling over the downed man.

_Catch yourself!_

Hands extending backward, she backsprings off the wet pavement, legs kicking out when she stumbles on a hard object under where her heel lands. Looking down, her blood runs cold when the silver of a gun gleams, out of reach of the goon’s hand.

 _Okay, this is_ **_very_ ** _different from training!!_

Charlie’s teeth clack when another body collides into hers with full force. Her throat closes under a crushing grip, her head pushed hard into the pavement when a weight falls on her stomach, preventing her from moving to or fro. She opens her eyes to a maniacal pair of eyes, blinking when she recognizes the man she had punched. 

_He couldn’t have recovered from that already!!_

Thoughts halt when her breath cuts off, her throat burning under the noose of his hand as a strangled cry illicites from her lips.

“ _EY! GET OFFA HER, YA FUCKING PIKER!! YA WANT A PIECE O’ ME!?”_

Charlie kicks out, both hands gripping the arm as she struggles. The sounds of shuffling feet and rolling wind beating in her head! Or is that her pulse? The woman’s shouting, roaring in her suddenly masculine voice, rips through the walls with two other shouts, and her heart starts to pound. She can feel the dread of the shift!

_Don’t change! Don’t change!_

The woman screams, and Charlie’s eyes flash open, strings of blood flying above her. And the goon above her stares down with a black stare, his _mug_ brimming with a hideous, jagged smile. His strange eyes have plunged into blackness, seeping into the sclera on the edges of his lashes. His face is gaunt and pale, devoid of the color it held prior.

 **“₩Ɇ ₭₦Ø₩ ₩ⱧØ ɎØɄ ₳ⱤɆ.”** A voice without a hint of water in its dry malignance.

The realization hits her equally as hard as the pungent stench invading her nostrils.

Sulfur. Brimstone.

_Demon._

She feels the shift. The grip of darkness invading her vision. Her eyes overtaken with the shroud of _crimson,_ gold percolating into her irises and the fangs sharpening between her lips. _Don’t… change!_

**_KAPOW!!_ **

A heel connects with the bedeviled man’s face, kicking him off of Charlie before she has time to understand she’s now free. She rolls to her side, hacking when she nurses her sore throat.

The woman.

Through a blur of sound, her voice reaches unnatural heights of an ‘effeminate’ shriek, barraging Charlie, who can only look up in confusion. Up close, her vision warps between light and shadow as the blood returns into her brain, she can see the woman’s chest has been cut. A slash deep in the meat of her well-defined shoulder, blood staining the white diamonds in her dress until they glow like rubies, but there is something else quite strange about this woman. The demon huntress can’t study much further when she harshly picks her up by the arm and yanks her to her feet.

“What are you still doing here, ya crazy bitch?! _Scram_ outta here!!”

“I… You were in trouble! I had to do som–”

“No one asked ya to! And now ya gone an’ pissed these _finks_ off!”

“But–!” Charlie strains to warn, when the both of them hear a growl.

A click of a glock fills the frosty air with a chill of foreboding.

“Fucking _broads_ …”

They look up, seeing one goon drawing a gun. “If I knew I was gonna have t’ use this on some _quiff_ just to get some _,_ I would have just gone home.”

Charlie blushes, but the tall woman snarls. “I’m off the clock, ya _palooka!_ These _gams_ ain’t exactly detachable!”

“That can be arranged once I blow yer _conk_ off.”

Charlie doesn’t know where to look. Behind her, where the possessed lies immobile 𑁋 _Did that woman’s kick seriously knock him out?!_ 𑁋 or before her, to the enfuriated pair left awake who now point a gun and a bloody knife in their direction. She needs to salvage this ridiculously embarrassing rescue somehow.

Fast.

The tall lady then draws a concealable firearm of her own. “Not if I blow ya down first.”

Charlie balks. “H-Hey!! Let’s not get too hasty–”

“Got a lot a’ _moxie,_ bitch. Drop the _gat_ and _grab a little air_ instead, nice and quiet like. Then maybe, we might be nice enough to still go easy on ya.”

“Think you’re gonna _fog_ me first? Go ahead! Hit me with your best shot!” she goads. “Callin’ it now you’ll be dead before you even pull your trigger. Then just maybe you’ll finally learn not to cross an angel once you’re _full a’ lead_!”

“Wait!” Charlie comes between them, praying for reason. This entire interlude has been a disaster, but she will _not_ allow anymore bloodshed! “Please, stop this!”

The goon stomps forward, pointing his gun closer to Charlie’s face.

“ _Move it, you bleeding heart!”_ the lady yells, grabbing for Charlie’s shoulder.

 **“** _ **𝕊** t **𝕠𝕡**_!! **”**

With her eyes screw shut, her body moving without a single command. She snatches the wrist of the goon who holds the gun.

**_POW!!_**

Following the gunfire is a scream.

She twists his wrist, hitching the joint when she spins and locks his arm behind his back, a foot kicking out his knee when he’s forced to drop the gun and fall to his knees. Charlie looks up, spooked by the pouring crimson seeping into the woman’s dress.

_She’s been shot!_

Her bloody hand staunches the flow pouring from her side, a graze of ash and blood cut into her dress when she falls to her knees. Her eyes flash, painted lips twisting into a wrathful snarl toward her ‘savior’.

“Fuckin’ hell, y’ _stupida_ _zoccola_!?”

Charlie winces. She’s unsure what exactly the lady called her, but judging by her tone, the blonde could deduce it was something none too kind.

Not that it was wholly unwarranted.

“Ooooh my gosh!! Sorry! I am so sorry! That could have gone soooo much better! That was really dumb of me!” she blubbers, grip still tight on the shooter’s arm.

What she receives is a blue and green glare. “ _Yeah_.”

“Get offa me, you whore!!”

“Raaagh!”

Charlie looks behind her to see the last standing goon throwing his arm to sweep his knife into her temple. She kicks behind her, her heel perfectly slamming below. Into his family jewels. The blonde stiffens when a howling scream rips across her ears.

He drops, curling on his side whilst nursing at his nether regions with a whimper.

“Charlie!!”

“Kid!!”

_Oh, thank heavens!_

Husk and Vaggie appear in the alleyway entry, alarm bright on their faces. 

“What the _fuck_ you doing alone in a Chicago alley?!”

“Are you alright?!” Vaggie stops, looking down at the man locked in the young woman’s hold.

“I’m fine! Help…uh…her!” Charlie answers, tilting her head towards the bleeding woman. “I need to take care of these guys!”

“I said get offa me! _I’ll kill you!!”_

**_WHAM!!_**

Husk pelts a harsh fist into the goon’s temple, Charlie screaming when she feels him fall limp into a murky puddle below them. When he doesn’t move, she slowly releases her hold, backing away with a long sigh.

“Oh, thank God…” She looks back at the unconscious body behind the woman. The possessed one begins to move again, and immediately, she jumps to attention, moving over him when she turns to Husk and Vaggie. “This one’s possessed!”

Vaggie jolts. “What!?”

“I saw him!” 

Husk frowns, sniffing and tasting the air. “...Well, if he was possessed, he ain’t anymore. He doesn’t have the telltale demon stench.”

“Excuse me, but what the _fuck_ are you three on?! Cause I’ve been _gowed up_ on all sorts of goods I got off _dope peddlers_ , but never had anything that did shit like _that_! And, yeah I’m _fine_ by the way! Don’t mind me _bleedin’ out over here!_ ”

Husk gives her a once over, his brow bouncing in interest with a smirk. He faces her fully, putting on his protective mask when his hands loom gingerly around her form once their eyes meet.

“Oooo, _now_ we’re talking!” The woman leers, extremely bold when her eyebrow waggles, inviting the Corporal closer.

Husk stops, frowning suspiciously. Looking over her form again, he blinks at the wounds: A deep slashes on her shoulder and chest, and a gunshot wound to the side.

 _What the hell have you been doing, kid?_ "Don't worry, ma'am. You’re in good hands." Gently, he pulls his arms around her back and under her knees, pulling her into his chest when she dramatically pulls herself closer, arms wrapping around his neck to breathe inches from his lips.

“If they’re yours, I know I’m in good hands, shnookums…”

It’s then that Husk has a better view of the woman’s assets, only to find a certain _lack thereof_. He almost loses his grip in his surprise.

“SHIT, YOU'RE A GUY!!”

The man in drag smirks maliciously, tracing a manicured nail under his jaw. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be, babe.”

Husk shakes him off, not releasing him, but now keeping a considerable distance between their faces when he walks them toward Vaggie’s awaiting medical supplies.

“Pass.” Husk deadpans.

“Awwww c’mon!” the other cries indignantly. “You weren’t complaining when ya swept me off my feet!”

"I'm gonna drop you if you keep talking."

The cross-dresser pouts. “Your loss.”

Vagatha walks forward, "Is she alright?!"

The injured man’s mismatched gaze meets Vaggie’s warm earths, immediately pleased to see another pretty face. “Well hel- _lo_! How you doin’, _cara mia_?”

The nurse recoils, her ears not matching the voice with the appearance. “The hell?!”

The stranger lights up. “Oooh fiery too! Ain’t that just the _kipper’s knickers_!”

Charlie is currently busy looking over Zeke, placing her hand over the rotund goon’s forehead, Husk only proven right when she cannot sense the demon she felt inside of him. The presence has completely vanished.

_That’s strange. Did it only invade him to talk to me?_

She looks out to the alleyway, sensing out the area. Perhaps this particular alleyway is haunted, and the goon was possessed? Or is this a special case to send her a message?

“Oi!” She looks up, seeing two police officers walk into the scene. “What’s going on here?”

_Oh, thank goodness._

And so, the evening comes to its conclusion, the three goons arrested as the trio are given the procedural questions, plus their new addition, who begins shouting from the blanket where he was lain, sneering at the morons who tried to _off_ them.

“Wanna use a gun for _nookie_!? Shove it up your shitter, ya fuckers!!” Charlie pulls him back, embarrassed when the trio glowers at them in response. “Let go, I still have a few more words I wanna give ’em with my _heels_!”

The police car is slammed shut, the dark tinted windows hiding their visages, yet Charlie can still feel the cold stare through the glass when another officer now takes down their names.

“Name please.”

The cross-dresser chortles. “You can call me Angel Dust, baby.”

The officer frowns, the other three looking at ‘Angel Dust’ in simultaneous confusion. “ _Real_ name please.”

His mismatched eyes roll, tossing his hair out of his face. “Anthony.”

“ _Full_ name.”

That earns him a groan. “Anthony _Augustin Accardi_. You want my _whanger_ size too?”

 _You learn something new everyday,_ Vagatha rolls her eyes. _Though why does that name sound familiar?_

“We’ll call an ambulance–”

“ _No, sir!! I ain’t going to no quacks!”_

Vagatha shakes her head, annoyed when she addresses the officer. “I’m a registered nurse. I can take care of his wounds.”

After he tries again, assuring it would be no trouble, Vagatha again politely turns their offer down. The officers leave them, the nurse joining Anthony on the blanket when she places on her medical gloves.

Immediately, Anthony recoils. “‘Ey! I said no _quacks!”_

“You want to bleed out?”

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Excuse me?” Charlie frets when his glare turns to her. “Please, er um, uh Mr. Accardi? Will you let her? You look pretty roughed up.”

He quirks a brow at her timid response, until he waves a tired hand in surrender. “...’Aight, quit hurting yourself. The _bulls_ are gone, just call me Angel for fuck’s sake. None of that ‘Mister’ or surname bullshit.”

Charlie tilts her head, before complying. “Okay… Mr. Angel?”

He eyes her warningly.

“Angel.” she gulps. “So, if I may? What happened?”

Angel only shrugs. “Some _bubs_ just don’t understand that when I say I like to play rough, I mean in the sheets, not the streets. Well, I can do both, but it’s _my_ way or the highway.”

“Did those guys want something from you?”

Angel rolls his eyes. “You know how some men are. The _palookas_ who think ‘No’ means ‘Yes’ and ‘Get lost’ means ‘Take me, I’m yours’!”

The younger woman’s brow only furrows more, blankly staring back. “Huh?”

Angel’s sardonic smile drops. _Is this bitch for real?_ Turning his gaze to Vaggie and Husk, he raises an unamused brow. “What? You two never gave her ‘The Talk’?”

Husk and Vaggie irk as Angel gestures to them when he turns back to Charlie.

“Well, gramps and _sheba_ here can explain it to ya if ya ask, toots.”

A couple of sputtered curses from Husk only serve to sprout a pleased smile across the _rent boy’s_ face.

"Alright, _‘Angel’_ ,” Vaggie interrupts before he can say anymore, prepping a rag, scissors, and sutures. “Any allergies I should know about before I start applying the iodine?”

Angel grins, brow arched suggestively toward the nurse. “Nope. I sure wouldn’t mind you kissin’ it better though.”

She grimaces. "You're not my type."

“C’mon, sweet cheeks! Sure ya don’t want some? Cause I promise you just like your girl over there,” Angel jerks a nod to a shy Charlie’s direction, before suggestively tracing his curves and angles. “ _all a’ THIS is real too_.”

"I'm out." Husk comes to his feet, walking back towards the car.

"Dammit, Husk!!" Vaggie swears. "Don’t you _dare_ leave us alone with him!”

Charlie comes to her feet, padding after him. “Husk, wait!”

Angel’s grin grows wider. “Looks like we’re all alone now…”

The _pachuca_ glares, baring her teeth.

“C’mon, babe! Yer _bambolina_ may know sorta how t’ fight, but something tells me if I pay her back with a good time, she ain’t gonna know much. I want t’ return the favor, and ya got the stuff I like, toots. Why not take a walk on the wild side? After all, I’m _packing heat_ in more ways than one.”

They stare long and hard, Vaggie’s grimace leveled with Angel’s lecherous leer, stubborn silence filling the space between them. At last, one moves, Vagatha’s expression unbudging when she reaches out toward his firm pectorals squeezed by his tight dress. An unembarrassed reach for the bunching of his firm pectorals…

Only to purposely push on his wound.

“Ooooww!!” Angel bounces off of the blanket with a yelp, voice dropping a few octaves.

Charlie and Husk look up at the pair, blinking at the string of Italian and Spanish insults traded between the injured and the nurse.

After shaking his head, his apprentice again begs him to return, successfully convincing Husk to come back with little more than a roll of his eyes. Grumbling a complaint, he says something about feeling a headache coming on from the shouts, making her sigh compassionately. He’s willing to bet the prior altercation was not as loud as those two idiots.

Charlie makes her way beside him, her hands tucked behind her, eying him with a side-long stare.

“Sooo… How’d I do?”

“Not your worst.”

She beams at his answer, only to be cut down by his next critique.

“But your ass is grass tomorrow morning. You’re starting training at 0300 hours.”

“ _Whaaaa–_?! _”_

He stops to glare at her, waving a finger inches from her nose.

“You ran off without telling us. That’s _one_ demerit. Two, your second mistake,” he raises a second finger. “You talked about demonic activity in front of a _bystander._ Who, by the way, doesn’t know how to staple his mouth shut and will drive Vagatha closer to murder, and me, to alcoholic poisoning. _”_

Charlie gasps urgently at that, taking his jokes literally. “I’m sorry! P-Please don’t!!”

Her hands grab for his so frightfully, he reels when her eyes plead to him. _Dammit to Hell, this dame ever gonna be able to tell a joke?_ As she blubbers, he places a hand to her head, patting it a few times with a wry shake of his head. “Yeah, yeah… no crying… I was being sarcastic…”

She still releases a whine, however relieved.

They return to regroup with the other two right as Vaggie was clicking her medical kit closed, removing her bloody gloves after finishing bandaging Angel up.

The cross-dresser allows Charlie to zip up his ruined flapper dress, despite its degradation in caked blood and new holes, even after Charlie volunteered to find a spare dress in their car.

A decision he very conclusively made upon taking one look at Charlie’s offered button-up collar and long sleeves.

“I ain’t about to wear a nun’s _get up,_ babe.”

“You need to take it easy for at least a good week, otherwise you’ll reopen your stitches.” Vagatha speaks up, maintaining strict professionalism. “You're lucky that bullet only grazed you. It could have punctured the lower half of your lung.”

Angel gives a pointed look at the shameful Charlie, who bows her red face away. With a groan, he tries to come to his feet, pausing to allow the pain to subside. When the young woman attempts to help him up, he pulls away from her, unwilling to be touched.

“Yeah, yeah… Think oodles of _hooch_ can clean the wound from the inside?”

“No.” Vagatha sneers.

He blows a kiss in her direction, satisfied when she snorts before awkwardly saluting Charlie. “Whelp. S’pose I owe ya a thanks for that save. I’m off then.”

On his feet at last, his strides falter. Every gimp is a testament with every awkward _click_ of his heels reverberating through the open street.

“Hang on, don’t you need us to call you a taxi, or something?”

“I can call a cab myself, _kitten._ Ain’t _that_ helpless. ‘Sides, if it weren’t for _you,_ Goldilocks,” Charlie blinks as his finger points her way, “I wouldn’t’ve been shot.”

“I said I was sorry!!”

Angel waves his hand, before finger-gunning her with a wink. “But I admit if ya didn’t come in when ya did, I might have bit the dust. So, if ya asked, I’ll at least give ya an hour for free.”

“...An hour of what?” 

“Pass!!” Vagatha interjects, turning back from the rolled-up blanket, eyes wild and angry. “We _ought_ to take you to a hospital to stay the night! It’d be safer for you.”

Angel’s good humor melts with a sneer. “The hell you are!”

“Ugh!” She throws down the blanket over her kit, standing to her feet. “What’s your damn _beef_ with hospitals anyhow?!”

“ _Vai a cagare! Non sono affari tuoi!_ ” Angel snaps viciously.

“ _Attento a come parli. Ne ho le palle piene_!” Husk bites out warningly, interjecting impatiently when he rolls his thumb into his temple.

Angel gawks at the veteran when he hears his mother tongue spoken back to him. “How the _fuck_!?”

“Can everyone just _calm down, please!”_

Husk snorts at the blonde in response, procuring a _gasper_ from his pocket and lights it with a strike of a match. Charlie fiddles with her fingers, awkwardly looking between each of them as the tension dies down.

“It’s been an exciting night for all of us…” She looks up to Angel, unable to say anything more when she bows her head shyly.

“Yeah, ‘exciting’,” the crossdresser snorts, grimacing when his stitches are aggravated by the movement. “Ah well. Ta-ta!”

Yet Charlie looks up quickly, unable to stop herself from calling out. “Wait! Don’t go!”

Angel huffs. “Now what? Unless ya changed your mind on my offer, I’m gonna _breeze_.”

“You’re still hurt.” Charlie manages weakly.

“No duh. And I’m _fine_. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Chicago is dangerous at night!”

“And I’ve got my trusty _bean shooter_ , toots!” Angel keeps limping, waving his hand at his exit.

She can’t allow him to go, however. Bean shooter or otherwise, in his condition, he’s an easy target for other thieves or unsavory fellows lurking in the alleyways! Walking quickly toward him, a conflict draws its swords in her mind. He can defend himself, but it’s by her own folly he even gained those wounds. Most of all _–_

“You saved me!” She stands before him before he can go even further, eyes pleading and arms outstretched to block him from going any further into the dark city.

“What do you mean by that?”

Charlie cringes at Vaggie’s scold. 

_Well, they would have learned eventually._

“One of them had me pinned down! He was strangling me when Angel kicked him off! I owe him!”

Vagatha stomps forward, even Husk’s eyes bulging wide. “ _What?!”_

Angel, however, waves off the sound argument. “Fuhgeddaboutit. You stuck your neck out for me. I just returned the favor. I’m a _dope-fiend,_ but I still got _some_ honor _._ ”

The young woman cringes at the admission. By the way he said that, she finally learns just what he does as an occupation. Before all she really assumed was he enjoyed himself to the local speakeasies, and protected himself as a precaution, but her confirmation was found in that single admission. She doesn’t know why it was what made the final connection.

Maybe because many in his line of work turn to it for some sort of relief… As a child, she saw some women dressed like him look so sad when she walked by the alleyways in the line of children.

 _So, he’s a_ _gigolo. Practically in danger every night. How long will it be before a similar situation repeats for him?_

Husk and Vagatha groan _._ “We’re grateful he saved you, but kid, if he wants to _scram_ , that ain’t our business.”

“Please...”

The cross-dresser blinks his pretty lashes, tilting his head condescendingly. “So, where are you suggesting I go then?”

“Stay with us.” There is no hesitation. “If you won’t go to the hospital, you can stay in the spare guest room no one is using.”

Guardian and mentor simultaneously balk, the veteran doubling over with a cough on his _dincher_. Angel says nothing for a moment, eyes fluttering. Does he consider it? Is he silently making fun of her?

He speaks up before they have the chance to do so first.

“That’s cute, but it doesn’t look like your guard dogs like me too much. A shame, cause they’re both _lookers_. I wouldn’t mind getting friendly.” Angel rags, tacking on a husky tone for that last comment as he gestures to the two behind him. “But it is what it is. Love to, but can’t. S’been a real slice, but I’ve been here long enough.”

Charlie steps in front of him again when he tries to retreat, lips pressed thinly in desperation.

“No! Just, hold on!”

“ _Charlotte_!” her guardian calls out, annoyed by Angel’s rudeness. “It’s not our business.”

“It’s my fault he got hurt!” Charlie bites back, fists balled at her sides. “That’s very well my business!”

Her response takes Angel aback.

Such a timid thing, yet foolishly brave enough to rush to his aid despite not knowing who he is. Wants everyone to play nice, but has shown to be no pushover either. She's proving herself to be an unusual _bird_. Shy one moment, bold the next.

Rectifying his open shock, he straightens his stance, whipping his nose to the sky when he shrugs with a chortle.

“She’s not wrong there!”

Unphased by his taunts, she steps forward, chasing Angel to take a step away. “Look! You helped me fight those goons, even though you didn’t have to. I want to return that favor. If I didn’t do all I could to nurse you back to health, I couldn’t sleep at night knowing I could have helped you more. Please?”

She steps forward again, and Angel tenses, but he remains in place, watching her cautiously when she places a hand on his arm, originally held up in defense as if expecting the girl to slap him. The touch is gentle, and warm. A brush he can’t quite place in its familiarity in the kindness of her fingers.

_When was the last time someone touched him like that without expecting something back?_

“Just until your wounds heal, at least!” He jolts, looking into the beseeching gaze in her thick lashes. So sincere, honest, and benevolent.

_On the surface, anyhow…_

“Then you can leave and I won’t stop you!”

Angel knows he ought to go with his gut that this is too good to be true.

Yet there’s a gentleness he sees reflected in her stare. So open, and unassuming. Yappy, like a puny Maltese and can’t be left alone without throwing a fit. Annoying, but endearing.

He ponders, for how much would it be worth just to shut this yappy, puppy girl up?

_She’s not gonna leave me alone about it anyway._

Before Angel can stop himself, he releases a long, surrendering sigh, rolling his head at himself.

“ _Fiiiiiiine_.”

“Really?!”

“Only so you’ll stop bitching, and just ‘till I’m healed. Then I’m outta here!”

That didn’t stop Charlie from squealing shrilly and dancing in place. An ear-grating sound.

At least it was temporary.

_Would also beat having to suck greasy landlord dick for a room at a shit motel like I was staying at before._

“And if I’m gonna stickin’ around, can I at least know the names of my new roomies?”

“I’m Charlie! This is Mr. Husk and this is Vaggie.”

Words could not do justice to describe the way Angel’s entire mug lit up with pure delight.

“LIKE VAGI–!!!”

In a single lunge, Vagatha pitches something forward, a wind soaring past Charlie’s cheek when a freshly cleaned rag slaps over his face with a wet _thwip_!

Angel nearly loses his footing, stumbling on his heels when yanks off the offensive item, mascara and eyeliner running down his angry _button_.

“Owww! Hey! I’m injured here!”

“ _You_ call me Vagatha!”

“Lord, give me strength,” Husk sighs.

“Charlie, are you really _sure_ about this?” Vaggie groans with a slight whine. A desperate plea that her charge isn’t being serious.

Charlie faces her, eyes sparkling at their new roommate-to-be.

Angel touches himself provocatively, biting his lips when he gives Vagatha a _gesto delle fiche_ with one hand and the sign of the horns with the other.

“Yeah. He’s good. I can tell.”

The nurse’s head drops, mumbling to Husk when she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Please, tell me you bagged a few tequilas…?”

Husk exhales a sympathetic ribbon of smoke. “Take your pick, _pachuca.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact! PCP (the drug known as angel dust), was created in 1926.
> 
> HOWEVER. Angel’s alias name still works within the accuracy of the times on technicalities. “Angel” for both being great in bed and also as a deceptively ‘soft’ term to hide that he can secretly fight back, and “Dust” on its own is slang for cocaine, which first came around in the 1800s, and Angel being cheeky about how he himself and/or sleeping with him is addictive/like a drug. 
> 
> Dumb Dora - an unintelligent female
> 
> gams - legs
> 
> beat it - expression telling someone off to leave, get lost
> 
> dish - a pretty woman
> 
> live wire - a lively, energetic person
> 
> tomato - term to describe a woman who’s all beauty but no brains
> 
> pal - a man
> 
> kitten, broad - a woman
> 
> beef - problem, issue
> 
> piker - coward
> 
> fink - an unpleasant or contemptuous person
> 
> quiff - vulgar term for a woman, a prostitute
> 
> conk - head
> 
> palooka - a none-too-smart man
> 
> moxie - spunk, fire
> 
> grab (a little) air - put your hands up
> 
> to fill (someone) with lead - to shoot someone
> 
> fog - kill
> 
> stupida - stupid
> 
> zoccola - Italian vulgar term for slut, whore; bitch; also means "sewer rat"
> 
> gowed up - high (on drugs)
> 
> dope peddlers - drug dealers
> 
> cara mia - Italian endearment
> 
> kipper’s knickers - one of many alt phrases that has the same meaning as ‘cat’s pajamas’, i.e. something great
> 
> nookie - sex
> 
> whanger - dick, penis
> 
> quack - doctor
> 
> sheba - a woman with sex appeal
> 
> bambolina - Italian feminine endearment term; lit. “little doll”
> 
> packing heat - armed with a gun
> 
> get up - outfit
> 
> breeze - leave, get going
> 
> gat, bean shooter - gun
> 
> dope-fiend - drug user/addict
> 
> hooch - alcohol
> 
> dincher - a lit or partially/half-smoked cigarette 
> 
> bird - an odd person, “funny bird”
> 
> looker - an attractive person
> 
> gigolo - male escort or prostitute
> 
> Vai a cagare! Non sono affari tuoi! - Fuck off! It’s none of your business!
> 
> Attento a come parli. - Watch your mouth.
> 
> Ne ho le palle piene! - Italian expression expressing great irritation along the lines of “I’m fed up with you/I’ve had enough!”
> 
> gesto delle fiche - an Italian name for the obscene Fig Gesture
> 
> pachuca - Term used for Mexicans at the time


	6. Hot Chocolate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is a ball,
> 
> For all we wear is a masquerade,
> 
> Dancers and singers, tireless until they fall.
> 
> All we are is the mask, 
> 
> Pretty and shiny like a diamond's bouquet!
> 
> What is beneath, never must you ask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Featured: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Npji_-Q-sGc

**Matthew 11:28-30 NIV**

**“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”**

* * *

Angel moving in was a major change.

He certainly livened things up for better or worse, depending on who you asked.

Angel's belongings, of course, couldn’t remain in a motel he no longer occupies, so Husk was given the unlucky draw of bringing boxes full of… _interestingly_ shaped novelties — unclean, to make matters _so_ much _worse_ — and arms full of straps, ribbons, dresses, and other _Burlesque_ accessories. Only three of the suits from what they saw could qualify as ‘proper wear’ to the provocative skirts, thin belts, and studded buckles. 

Husk takes a _loooong_ shower after dumping them on the floor of Angel’s guest room, leaving Vagatha with the unfortunate sight up close when she’s busy changing out his bandages. 

“Why do you have so…much…??”

“You don’t hear me judging your wardrobe to your face, so you can extend the same to me. Is the golden rule on that long ass list of ‘dos and don’ts’ too?”

Vaggie ignores him, breathing in deeply before she continues wrapping his shoulder. “Here’s another rule: This is _our_ house. So abide by _our_ rules, and stop walking out of your room in nothing but a damned thong or else I’m burn them in the fireplace!”

“Is someone jealous?”

She doesn’t answer, stubbornly biting her lips closed, though her hands work a bit too roughly.

“Hey! Easy!!” Angel snaps. “Fuckin’ hell! What happened to ‘do no harm’?!”

“Whatever happened to you shutting up?”

“Not if you’re pullin’ some malpractice!”

“I’m home!” Vaggie unconsciously unfurls when she hears the front door open and close, the melodious voice a salve to an embittered soul. “I have really exciting news to tell you!” 

Vaggie breathes a prayer of thanks for the one good thing living in the household. However as the excited steps come rushing up the stairs to the second floor and towards the door to Angel’s new room, she remembers its current state.

“Wait, _Charlie,_ don’t com _–”_

“Abbess Judith is allowing me to rea–AAAAAAAAGH?!!??”

As Charlie shields her eyes, Angel gives a nonchalant point to his belongings, a vagabond’s smile raised at the growing chaos. “Sorry ‘bout the mess, haven’t had the chance to clean up between Nurse Slapdash and her abject judgment of my things.”

Charlie flees from the room, slamming the door behind her with a shriek which is followed by a distant second door slam on the opposite end of the hallway. Both nurse and patient stare silently at the closed entrance, the latter grinning cheekily while the former’s jaw falls agape to the inevitable loss of Charlie’s innocence.

 _“...Madre de Dios...!”_ Nothing more can be done but to lament, Vaggie’s face falling into her hands in embarrassment. “...New rule: I’m injecting you with enough anesthetic to knock out a horse every time she comes home.”

“And yet you wonder why I hate hospitals.”

“With your mouth? I feel more sorry for the doctors.”

“Hey! The things I can do with this mouth will blow you awa– OW!!”

And so the most boring two weeks of Angel's life began. On top of growing into his new, _temporary_ home, the crossdresser is shameless, vulgar, quick to spite and slow to listen as he ever was. Every glance toward Husk earns the corporal a lewd position, with the gigolo tracing his clavicle or lapping his tongue over his lips with an impish giggle.

“Well, hello.”

Husk doesn’t miss a beat. “No.”

Angel pouts. “Aww! Don’t be like that, babe.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Angel turns on his stomach, cringing when he feels the stitches stretch, yet he meticulously masks the pain in the husky response, “ _Wanna watch me?_ ”

Husk turns on his heel, cutting the conversation as he escapes downstairs.

 _It’s too easy,_ he muses, twisting on his back in his lonely room. _I’m bored._

Husk made increased efforts to ignore and keep a great deal of distance after Angel moved in, often retreating to sit on the patio as soon as he gathered himself a bottle of beer to keep him company.

According to him, suffering the cold is worth suffering to the _rent boy’s_ presence.

After a few days pass to overcome her shock, the young blonde, Chappie or whatever, appears back in his room. Angel is surprised to see the young blonde reenter the bedroom after last time, her cautious perusal of the clean floor almost making him burst into laughter. The area is without a trace of the novelty items and the pounds of risque clothes, packed tightly into a wardrobe — courtesy of Vaggie, much to his annoyance. The _bunny_ waltzes in with a bit more confidence, seeing Angel dressed comfortably in a pink and white jacket with a cotton shirt and cotton pants.

_Heh. She’s like a little kid. Woulda been fuckin’ hilarious to see her face if I at least kept the dildos out._

“Um… Hello?”

“ _Ciao_.”

They stare awkwardly at each other when Angel notices the plate of food in her hand, and a cup of something warm in the other. Sniffing the air, a familiar sweetness twinges a heartfelt nostalgia. When was the last time he had hot chocolate?

“I brought dinner…” 

She becomes a frequent visitor from then on, making small talk and asking about his wounds. The young woman is very much a contrast to the evasive Corporal and the fiery nurse, being the one to offer him home-cooked meals, and taking the time to make him some hot chocolate before bed. Even giving him a warm scarf at night as the March winter still stubbornly clung and refuted the spring time’s warmth. Always smiling, always greeting him ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’. Small acts throw him off, far too intimate for someone who felt guilty about hurting him by accident, gun wound or not.

 _Feels like overkill to go this far out of her way to ‘repent’,_ he thinks.

Her words are always kind, if awkward in her innocence, clumsily trying to grasp the constant innuendos he cracks at every opportunity. With Vaggie, every moment spent with her is an odd duality of having his teeth pulled out and delighting in seeing her explode into colorful expletives in that sexy accent. With Charlie…

She’s cute, but a bit of an airhead. _Way_ too nice and if he even tries to _cash_ her, he’s more than sure he’ll die of diabetes. During some of their conversations, she had the nerve to even tell him he should look for a different profession for the sake of his safety, echoing back to the night they were caught under the sight of those three assholes. That it would also be more ‘fulfilling’ and he ‘would be actually treated with more respect’ or ‘that he is more than how he perceives himself.’

He snorts. 

_A typical goody-two-shoes bitch out to ‘save me’. Fuck me sideways…_

It put him in a bad mood, enough that he snuck out of his bedroom and dumped the hot chocolate into the sink one night. It’s petty, but serves her right for looking down on him! 

_Bitch. You think ya know me? Think I’ll fuckin’ change just because you’re taking care o’ me! That’s what it's all about!!? This your way of repenting, to_ change _me like everyone else?!_

He harshly grips the sink, teeth gritting when he feels his nails scratch the surface, his jaw beginning to hurt when he quells the strong urge to scream. To not shout at the faces of those not present.

Protection only given at the cost of giving up his lifestyle. Like the _skirt-chasers_ offering food and lodging once they get their fill of his body, stinking him with booze and their release, and even young women overflowing his ears with vile desires in his arms. 

Their faces force his stomach into somersaults, their wayward glances making him clench. Nails bite into his palms and his breaths begin to deepen, a black storm filling his mind with vile rage. Against her, against his pops and his whole damned clan who abandoned him.

 _FUCK YOU, BITCH!! FUCK EVERYONE!!_ His hand falls into his head, deep breaths taken as he backs away at the swoon of emotion bludgeoning his head with a pulsating headache. 

_Shit. Fuckin’ withdrawals…_ With a growl, he sweeps back his false, blonde hair, fingers bunched at his browning roots. _Ain’t thinkin’ straight… Fuck._

He can see Charlie’s face, her smile. Soft, sweet, and open, and her touch so gentle and unassuming on his shoulder when she leaves every time she tells him goodnight, not unlike a big sister to her frightened brother or mother caressing her child before bed. Hell, she saved him, however clumsily. Whatever her motive, no one’s willing just to give away their own life like that…

Which is why he’s so conflicted.

He scoffs. _Shit, the bitch would probably jump at her own shadow! She ain’t_ that _smart._

Still, with ominously heavy steps, he attempts to walk back to his room and do his best to sleep the rest of the night away, his cup left untended on the counter, and hot chocolate drying in the sink.

The next few days are a blur, a routine of snarky exchanges with ‘Vagatha’ (he still ain’t allowed to call her Vaggie), of Goldilocks coming in with food and hot chocolate from wherever she returns from with Gramps, and the lonely nights in his room filling him with uninvited thoughts. He left the drink ice cold on the nightstand. He even slept on the opposite end of the bed to see if it’ll help him sleep better.

Funny enough, it did. For, like, two nights.

The next morning, he’s surprised to see her instead of Vaggie. She quickly explains she would be dressing his wounds in the morning now since Vaggie began her new job at the hospital. He’s both annoyed and disappointed he wouldn't have his morning banter, something he grew accustomed to just like his morning coffee. When she prepares the box of materials and new gauze, he tiredly recoils his arm from her touch. 

“Look, kitten. I appreciate it, but you look like you can’t tell iodine from a ketchup bottle.”

Instead of the annoyance he’s used to from the _bearcat,_ Charlie’s smile is without slight, completely unphased by his resistance. 

“Not to worry. I actually used to help her a lot when I worked at the hospital in Spring Forest. I know what to do.”

He rolls his eyes. “Will you cut the act? That smile ain’t hidin’ nothin’ from me, doll!”

She tilts her head to the side. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Oh, yeah?” he sneers, patience already thin this early in the morning. “I know yer type! Ya always end up bein’ the hidden psychos,” he taps his temple with an accusatory finger, “all ya smiley dames! Ya bat yer pretty eyes thinkin’ any man will fall all over ya!’! All you goody-two shoe types always talkin’ shit of how you want t’ _save_ me! Well, the _jig_ is up! I ain’t another one o’ yer ‘projects’ that you can change just ‘cause I know how to have a good time! Get it?”

Charlie’s lashes flutter, looking between the painted finger and his piercing glower. His teeth bare like a rabid dog ready to snap at one wrong move. 

“Is _that_ what you’re worried about?”

“Like you don’t know!”

Charlie says nothing for some time, a long gaze shared between his heterochromatic daggers and her wide-eyed charcoals, unblinking, yet soft against his wrath. Then, with a featherlight touch, she slowly reaches up and wraps her fingers around the pointing hand, so slow and cautious, as if trying to handle a hold of a cactus. Angel certainly prickles like one. 

Her reaction startles him, so much that he doesn’t pull away. All he could do is stare blankly.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

Soft conviction speaks in such a simple assurance, her eyes untouched of exasperation but full of compassion. He assumed she was going to say something profound. Something ‘holy’ and ‘pure’, like a quote from that antiquated tome.

Only she doesn’t. Just a soft gaze, quietly waiting for a by-your-leave.

Angel narrows his eyes, staring long and hard at this weird girl. Until finally, he turns to his side, groaning in compliance. 

“Jus’ get it over with.” he relents with a flippant wave. 

There’s that sickeningly sweet smile, her joy beaming like a nightlight. He can even feel his lips twitch a bit, before quickly looking away when he realizes he was about to smile with her. Clearing his throat, he patiently awaits her to finish cleaning his wounds.

“Hey…would you like to eat with us for dinner tonight?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. Won’t yer guardians throw a fit?” 

“Vaggie actually suggested it.”

 _That_ he did not expect, his head whipping around to give her a suspicious glare. “Yer on somethin’.” 

As usual, his words are lost on her. Angel can only sigh. “Guess not.” 

“Is that a ‘no’?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he huffs but with little bite. “Depends on what’s cookin’. Who made the grub? You?”

Charlie scoffs. “Vaggie, actually!”

This time, his eyes bug out of his head. “The _bearcat?_ Thought she was the type who couldn’t boil an egg!”

“Her eggs are wonderful, actually! I’m the one who is terrible at cooking. She doesn’t even allow me near the stove.” she giggles into her fingers. “Lord, _I’m_ the one who tried to boil an egg and it was still soft on the inside.”

“Yer a special kind a’ stupid, doll.” 

“That’s not very nice.” 

The tension falls away, and sooner than he expects, Charlie is done with her treatment, his skin suddenly cold from the missing warmth of her friendly touch. He still hasn’t given her an answer by the time she finishes, the medical kit clipped closed before he once more blurts without any prompting. 

“S’long as _bearcat_ and _Father Time_ ain’t against the idea, I’m all for it, kitten. Would be nice to stretch these _gams,_ y’ know? Plus, maaaybe I’m curious to see the nurse actually act like a _Jane_ fer once!”

She almost drops the kit, looking back with the happiest smile she’s given him. And this time, he allows a small smirk back.

“I’ll come for you at 6:00! Rest up, okay. I’ve got to go with Corporal Husk for training right now.” 

Charlie rushes out before he could ask about what the hell she meant by ‘training’, his finger uselessly lifted with unanswered questions when she closes the door behind her. Shoulders dropping, Angel sighs before looking over his bandages again around his waist, where the bullet exited his skin. 

As she confessed, she did pretty damn good. Which only makes him feel worse about being so bitchy to her the whole time he’s stayed. The whole thing’s still hard to wrap his head around.

No one’s nice just because. That doesn’t exist. There’s always a give and take. Only this time, begrudging as he is to admit, _he’s_ the one who hasn’t been giving just as much as he’s been taking.

And like hell he’s gonna put himself in anybody else’s debt. 

Angel softly traces the seam of the gauze, deep in thought.

Maybe, he ought to play a little nicer back.

_The least I could do is treat ‘er to a little payback for giving a shit about my ass at all. And if I get some fun outta it too, all the better…_

* * *

By the fourteenth day, Angel’s leg bounces impatiently just as Charlie rechecks his bandages and stitches. He’s already begun to feel more than a little stir crazy, but for Charlie’s sake, he holds his tongue.

“How are you feeling?” Charlie returns the supplies into the medicine box, finishing up the daily procedure of redressing Angel’s wounds.

“The iodine hurts like a bitch, like it has every day we’ve gone through this routine, but I’m holdin’ up. Beats bleeding out alone in an alleyway.”

Charlie’s smile is a little heavy. It’s only a matter of time before Angel will be gone for good. She’s actually enjoyed his company ever since he finally decided to let his guard down a little, but who wants to be around the place where they were confined? 

“Well, after that, you’re actually free to do what you please. I’m certain you’re ready to get out of here and back to the city, but take it easy...” 

She clicks the box closed, Angel jumping to his feet with a cackle.

“Now you're talkin’! Goodbye, tiny guest room! Hello downtown!” He walks over to his window, throwing open his curtain. The sun’s only begun to set, and he claps his hands together. He immediately regrets the action, cringing from a bout of discomfort when the shock of the clap rippled through his body and agitated his wounds.

Seeing her concern, he cloaks his pain under a cackle. “Ah ha! Can’t miss out on a night like this!”

Charlie presses her lips uncomfortably. “Yeah, but don’t overdo it, alright. You shouldn’t be out on the streets.” She looks up, chasing away her melancholy with a soft firmness. “Your stitches, you know!”

“Awwww c’mon!” he whines. “I’ve been cooped up against my will with no booze and no dick–!”

“Will you stop!”

He smirks, brow quirked with a teasing waggle.

“Besides, it’s not safe.”

“Weeeeell, ya know…maybe if I had someone, a buddy, to accompany me and keep an eye out so I don’t get myself killed, it wouldn’t be too bad, right?”

Charlotte blinks, appalled. “I am _not_ going to join you in the streets!”

Two manicured hands fling up in surrender. “Toots, relax! I ain’t talkin’ about that! What do ya take me for?!” 

_Sheesh, she’s on par with Bearcat when she’s mad._

“I’m a bastard, not a _cad._ Now, put away the claws and let me be clear.” This time, he opens his hand to her, grinning wide with invitation. “I want ya to come with me to this swanky joint nearby. No open streets, no creepy goons. Just a nice _joint_ and some good _moonshine.”_

Driven to speechlessness, she doesn’t answer quickly. She didn’t expect him to invite her out, or even wish to have anything to do with her after these last few weeks. His smirk doesn’t show any regret in asking, only growing with intent on her answer. 

“Think of it as me paying you back for sticking yer neck out for me. Besides the _peashooter_.”

Looking away, she gives the invitation some thought. Come to think of it, all she’s been doing was training for hunts since they moved here. Even she understands what it’s like to be restless.

“...I should ask Vaggie first.”

Angel blanches. “Uggh! Might as well forget I said anything.”

“What?”

“You bring this up to her, and she’ll shut it down faster than Mr. Grumpy downs two bottles in five minutes!”

“But–”

“‘It’s easier to ask forgiveness than to beg for permission’ on this one, kitten,” he continues, floating up to her to push her little button nose with an exaggerated grimace. “ _Bearcat Babydoll_ wouldn’t wanna hear any of it. Why spend the night getting into an argument when you can have some fun with a new friend? It ain’t gonna be nothin’ crazy or all irresponsible on account of my stitches an’ all, but a good time for two new pals! Whaddya say?”

Charlie lightly bats his hand, hesitant. “...I don’t know, Angel. Vaggie’s only like that because she cares. It feels dishonest.”

“Doll!” He snatches her by the shoulders, eyes wide in desperation. “Will ya get that pole outta yer ass and learn t’ live a little?!”

Pink lips snap shut, dark eyes wider than saucers when they’re forced to look up at his heterochromatic irritation!

Catching himself, the gigolo releases her, raising both fingers to keep her attention. “Tell ya what: I’m going whether ya like it or not, buuuut…” he drops one hand, lowering his face to her level, lightly bending his knees. “Do me a solid: be my girl buddy and watch my back from the big ole baddies, and I might get ya date. Any _cat_ ya want! I’ll be your wingman!”

Her smile is awkward, eyes turning this way and that. Truly, the thought of Angel finding her a date sounds more trouble than she’s willing to test. She’s almost certain the candidate would end up being a _troubleboy._

“That… won’t be necessary... but say I do decide to go–” 

Angel beams.

“–do you _promise_ you’ll be careful?”

Angel nods so quick there were afterimages of his face, but Charlie is quick to point, “Because if you break that promise, I’ll have Vaggie do your bandages next time!”

“You know me, I don’t mind it rough~.” He cackles at Charlie’s scandalized expression, twisting on his heel to wander to his wardrobe. “Just _razzing_ ya, I’ll keep your promise! Cross my heart, sistah! Now get your dancin’ shoes, ‘cause we’re going to the Golden Muse!!”

Though when he pulls the door to the wardrobe, he’s quick to remember his clothes were locked away for the sake of the doll’s virgin eyes, the large piece of furniture resilient against his strong yanks when he once more must bite back another small surge of pain.

 _Damned wounds_.

“Sooooo…” He gestures to the wardrobe awkwardly.

“Oh! Right!” She rushes out to grab the key from Vaggie’s bedroom, quick to return before going into her own room to ready herself for a night on the town.

* * *

He chose one of his more bedazzled suits. Much to his dismay, most of his dresses would expose the less flattering stitches. Lightly applying his makeup, he tilts his head up to start applying his false lashes when a figure appears in his mirror. Instantly, a smile breaks across his face, excited to see Charlie in a sinful gown which could possibly ride up to her sexy legs. Hey, he knows a good body when he sees one! Yet all those hopes fall into a cold, wet gutter the moment he lays eyes on what the dame considers a ‘party dress’.

His jaw drops as Charlie shyly poses in a simple dress, which is sinful in all the _wrong ways,_ and tied back hair. And not a trace of _makeup!!_

The dress is buttoned up to her neck, long sleeves buttoned up to her wrists. The hue of a faded lavender, yellow daffodils speckle the rhythm of her womanly curves, a pair of pointed heels peering under her long skirt. 

A good choice for a post-mass picnic or a tea party. Hell, Angel can openly admit to himself she has a nice pair of _bubs_ ! A body that any _cat_ would want a taste of.

For a bar, however?

Angel couldn’t find the words, winding his hand until he finally asks a bland, “Um, what is this?”

“...My outfit?” Charlie tips her head, truly flummoxed by his lack of reaction.

“No offense, doll, but this ain’t no party dress.” He gestures sharply with two open hands, edifying his disapproval with wide eyes. “It’s a _church_ dress. Where’s the flair? The glitz? The glam? The _sex appeal?_

This is a dress she’s always felt prettiest in, with many compliments from friends! So for Angel’s criticism to be so severe, Charlie hides behind her hands when she feels the color burn her face. Has she been lied to? 

“V-Vaggie says it’s always more enticing when a woman presents herself modestly.”

Angel claps his hands together, inhaling deeply. 

“Charlie. Honey. Sweetie. Baby.” He gets in closer, gently taking her by the shoulders with a condescendingly sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, but that’s a load of _bull_.”

 _Huh?!_ Her mind comes to a screeching halt. Like everything she’s ever known cracks just a little, tiny bit. “Uh?! Then– Wh-What should I wear?!”

“Well clearly, I have my work cut out for me, but luckily for you,” He spears a finger into the air, “style and accessorizing is my forte.”

With that, he turns her around and pushes her from behind, walking out of his room to walk in the direction of her own. “First, what else you got in your closet?”

Forced into leading the rest of the way with Angel’s hands still on her shoulders, they enter her bedroom, which Angel should have expected is the epitome of innocence in its soft pinks and merry yellows, with rosy curtains patterned in the brightest flowers he’s ever seen. Hell, it even _smells_ like flowers, cinnamon buns, and potpourri. 

Angel knew his tastes lean more on the side of all things elegant, but this is just nauseating! He ignores the bright colors for the task at hand, honing in on her closet!

Snapping his fingers to speed the girl on, he smirks at the annoyed pout on her cute little _button_ , but she leads on, opening her mirrored door to look into a modest number of dresses. 

As expected, most were prudent, simple, and downright _drab._ So boring he is sure he’ll simply die from the amount of cloth on these dresses. Bright colors aside, none qualified for even earning the _dame_ so much as a glass of water from any patron if she insists on dressing like _Mrs. Grundy_!

“Please, tell me this ain’t it! Because if this is it, we’re in big trouble!”

All Charlie could do is twiddle her fingers, growing more and more humiliated the more he berates her choice of ware, and it’s beginning to wear her patience thin. 

“Look, I don’t know what you’re looking for, but this is what I wear!” she clips, pointing a finger inches from Angel’s nose, sharp enough, the gigolo actually steps back a step. 

With his expression falling, he picks her finger and turns it away from him before dropping it like a handkerchief. “Well, excuuuse _me,_ doll, I’m only trying to open yer eyes to the finer things in life, but without the _glad rags_ , we’re shit outta luck! So, before I decide to mutilate one o’ my own dresses to fit yer _waif chassis,_ please, I’m beggin’ ya! Tell me this ain’t all there is!”

His eyes grew big and sad, exaggerating his pout into a quivering lip. The expression is so far from his sassy temperament, Charlie can’t help a chortle. 

Which is exactly what he wanted from her.

“Alright, alright, none of that. Just let me take another look.” 

She reenters her closet, flipping through her dresses again with Angel standing off impatiently. His shiny wingtips tap, serving as the ‘tick-tock’ replacing the soft rap of her alarm clock.

“Oh! I forgot about this!”

He flies close, squeezing himself into the closet with her until his head pops near her ear to get a look at her find. “About what?”

She tenses, glaring at the proximity. “Mind your distance! I did buy one dress before we left Minnesota, but I mainly have it saved for a special occasion. I’ve yet to wear it!”

Backing away, Angel waves his hands in silent command, and she dives in to pull out a shoulderless dress. Rhinestones sparkle under the light, its sleeves long enough to reach the mid of her elbow while the waist-line is pinched for a flattering slimness, the length just long enough to tempt her ankles in view. In contrast to the soft pinks and yellows of her bedroom, this one is a carmine that one could relate to Angel’s favorite rouge of red lipstick.

His jaw gapes before he lets out a breathless laugh, biting his lips with excitement when his voice booms through the house. Good thing the bearcat and veteran are out of the house!

“Now that’s more like it! This is the right kind a’ _glad rags_ for a night on the town! Put it on, put it on, we‘re burning candlelight!” 

Hands thunder after her, startling her into a chase until she’s led to the door of her personal bathroom!

“Okay! You don’t need to rush me!”

“ _Muoviti_ , sistah!” he barrages, until she can finally enter the door and close it before he would attempt to enter. Turning, she sighs, glad to escape his pushiness for one minute, looking over to the cabinet mirror when she shakes her head at her reflection. 

_Just what am I thinking…?_ Charlie begins to undress, yet while stepping into the dress, she begins to doubt she’s making the wisest decision allowing him to take her out. 

For one, she barely knows him. Secondly, he’s a _gigolo!_ What if while they’re out, he takes on a ‘client’ and she’s left all alone? Is he trustworthy? Would he look out for her as he promised? 

She presses a hand to her chest, a gnawing storm beginning to build.

Yet underlying her caution, she can’t deny the needling excitement. She’s yet to see the whole city properly, since returning! Charlie can’t deny her desire to experience the city anew without being watched by her domineering guardian and harsh instructor stepping in. Chicago shows a great change in the last few years, with new shops, and brand new construction! How strange, how the years have shown a great change. It’s like she’s somewhere new altogether. With new sights, new adventures awaiting her!

_Hold on!_

Angel wants to take her to one of the _Blind Pigs!_ Aside from his questionable tastes in attire, his job description would normally seek out the less savory individuals of the city in places like that.

Forget his insistence on taking her out! She’ll be surrounded by a cesspool of lawbreakers!

Only…why does she not feel endangered? 

Perhaps, because she had entered a multitude of them when she and Vaggie searched for Husk?

Or perhaps it’s due to Husk himself, having an affinity to the banned substance even though he shows to be caring under his nonchalance to the Prohibition.

Her hands clasp at the duality battling through her mind. Angel’s definitely right about one thing: Vaggie _wouldn’t_ approve. Husk would probably be less inclined to stop her, but then he’d give in to Vaggie’s badgering. By all the flags presented to her in Angel’s passionate spurring, she should absolutely _refuse!_

Yet as she zips up the back of her dress, and sees the way she looks in the mirror now, all of her concerns fall at the glistening rhinestones, like they cast a spell over her deep troubles. Looking at herself in her new dress, her breath falls in breathless abandon. She’s never seen herself in anything besides fully dressed shoulders and button up collars. 

Her skin glimmers under the bathroom light, bare shoulders paleness painted in a rouge of natural blush. Looking down, she feels the gust at her ankles, posing with her pointed silk heels, now fully visible. The length is long enough for comfort’s sake, but upon buying this, she remembers it gave Vagatha enough concern to simply hold onto the dress for special nights.

Charlie feels a new flush of excitement color her cheeks. This _is_ a special night! She’s exploring the city for the first time in years!

Now lies the final obstacle: Angel’s approval. 

Taking a deep breath, she exits the safety of her bathroom, unwilling to look at Angel’s perusing out of sheer shyness when she rubs the fabric of the skirt in her fingers. 

Only, like before, he is completely silent. The lingering wordlessness chips away at the confidence she felt only moments ago in seeing the way the rhinestones' iridescence makes her feel like a princess, how the cinched waist makes her feel elegant, and the way the color shines under the light into dark shadows of burgundy and lighter scarlet. The space between them grows awkward, and frustration begins to build the longer she refuses to look at his face.

“Will you please say something?” she pleads.

“...We’re in business!!” Angel’s abrupt praise takes Charlie by surprise. Once she braves looking up, she sees his grin split across his face. “And we’ll be _hitting on all eight_ once we get your hair and makeup done!”

Gasping, her confidence returns with a blinding sparkle, hands clapping over her bright cheeks. She’s never worn makeup before! “You can do that!?”

Angel wags his finger arrogantly.

“You think I wake up this gorgeous?” He pauses. “Well, partially, but that’s only half the battle.” 

The _rent boy_ cracks his knuckles, stepping forward with a hungry grin. It was almost evil, and the certainty melts the closer he stands above her. Charlie can’t help but gulp. “Now, let’s sit you down so I can work my magic.”

_Oh dear…_

* * *

A roll of the hand clinks the diamond ice to a crystal wall, a thoughtful sip passing grinning lips. 

A man sits with his back to the bar, idling away the hours with a spectator’s eye on the gambler’s table, on the tinkling piano player, showgirls flapping away on stage to their cheap routines. One in particular catches his glance, and she gives him a wink and a kiss blown from her palm. 

He looks away with a sneer, snorting when he takes a sip of his amber liquid fire, the _choicest_ Cognac in the bar. If the bawdy laughter and chiming poker chips is anything to go by, it’s another routine evening at the Golden Muse. 

He lives for spontaneity, but can still appreciate routines in the right conditions. 

Nothing surprises him, and he knows when he can kick back, but even in a new city, the monotony is quickly becoming dull. It was the same in New York, Philadelphia, Detroit, Seattle, Las Vegas…

Even his beloved hometown.

Before he would take another sip and give himself to the rock of heady drink, a figure catches his eye. Form drawn in with a heavy coat and a cloche hat dappled in the white powder, he can already guess the new arrival was caught unawares by the sudden downpour of snow. With her, a tall man, and a rather ‘pretty’ looking fellow at that. 

Were it not for the suit, he would have thought he was looking at another woman. 

The _ethel_ is loud, cackling when dashes the snow off of his head while he looks down at his distressed plus one. The onlooker sees the young woman’s hands dressed in black hand gloves, probably to fight off the cold. When the gentleman stands behind his female companion as she begins to shed off her coat, giving way to a sparkling red dress, shoulders revealing white skin and, the watcher must daringly admit, a beautifully long neck. The colors brought out the shock of her paleness that he could see where her skin blushes on the curve of her shoulders. Red is a very becoming color on her, complimented by her painted lips.

He sips, keeping his head low under his hat at his discretion. 

Slender fingers rise, tipping back the hat.

A downpour of golden rivulets caress the thin of her jaw, pink rosebud lips parted with a sigh. She shakes her hair free, time slowing when he’s given the view of the rosiest cheeks he has ever seen, accentuated by the red of her dress. He expects to see a pair of pretty blues to complete the look of her pale skin and blond hair, but when she opens her eyes, large lashes instead frame a pair of dark wells, bright under the ambience of the fluorescent lights. Almost like her eyes are twin dark stars, robbing his breath in a single glance.

There is often talk of how a woman can be so beautiful that one’s breath would be stolen in an instant, as he couldn’t look away when her doe-eyes suddenly look down, uncertainty written in her movements. Interestingly enough, she does not remove her gloves. An ensemble of her dress, far more modest than most of the women who seek out the nightlife. That alone makes her a curiosity.

The _ethel_ takes her hand and places it in the crook of his elbow, the noise drowning out his whisper when he nears her ear. The patron can bet the words he speaks are words of encouragement, for instantly, a soft smile rises on the beauty. He thought her dazzling before, but her smile makes her absolutely divine. 

An angel amongst undeserving sinners. An exceptional trophy.

When they begin to make their way down into the _Blind Pig,_ he keeps his head down, keenly keeping in rhythm with her black silk heels peeking under the skirt. Even her ankles are elegant.

They pass, and once more, the clock slows when he inhales that sweet perfume slipping through her skin like ambrosia, her fair locks moving like silk in the breeze.

His smile grows, his _cheaters_ glinting under the lamplight above him. 

He doesn’t pursue, though. Not yet, anyway. For all he knows, that _ethel_ could be her suitor. It’s doubtful from what he’s observed. They don’t act like a couple, nor does she look at him with the signs of a woman in love. 

In fact, with the way she curls her shoulders in and her hands clasp with a nervous tension on the bar, she’s very much a poor darling pulled away from the comforts of her familiar life and placed into an unknown atmosphere, relying on her friend as an anchor through the evening. 

Only when the lady’s companion begins to strike up conversation with her does she begin to unwind, lifting her eyes and straightening her womanly figure in her seat. 

Once more, he sees yet another difference to the rest of the _flappers_ who walk with their noses in the air, the ones who often pursue him with an arrogant smirk and honeyed words. She looks about the bar with curious shyness, white teeth biting into her painted lips like a fresh apple. Looking at the interior with a fascination of one yet lost of innocence.

At the same time, when she returns to the conversation at hand with her friend, he keenly notes the veil of sadness hovering in her eyes, even with the smile and laughter. An invisible burden none can see, but from the way she circulates her curious perusal of the joint, it’s not hard to imagine this might be the first time she’s ever set foot in a place like this.

 _Perhaps frightened of the new atmosphere?_ He looks down to her black gloves, watching the way her finger circles the back of her hand in ritual recognition. Much like a press to relieve nerves. 

Or perhaps something else.

Whatever the tale of this mystery belle, he drank in her image in gulps, his finger tapping the now-lifeless liquid fire in his palm. While he may not have been a resident of the _Mud City_ for long, he is sure he would have seen her here at some point. Is she new in town? A tourist? Some obscure performer? 

With his head buzzing with questions, he rolls his beverage in thoughtful abandon, turning away every once in a while to keep from detection from her or her friend. 

Listening. Waiting. _Plotting._

All that a hunter devises in preparation to strike.

* * *

“Dancing is how you get all the fellas and ladies! Ya just gotta find yer choice of the lot, bat those pretty lashes, shake out some o’ that skin,” Angel makes a suggestive growl under his breath, making a show of shaking his uninjured shoulder, “and ask him, ‘Ya gonna ask me t’ dance?’”

“Angel!!” Charlie giggles, turning back to the bar when her order at last arrives in a gold lined teapot and a similarly colored teacup and saucer. 

“I brought you here to learn the joys of _giggle water,_ and you go and order _noodle juice_ like some _uptown_ _square!_ What gives?”

Charlie only politely pours herself a cup. “It’s not right to break the law. Plus, I like tea.”

“Yer breakin’ the law bein’ out here with me! And yer missing out on the _goods_ of doin’ it! Ya just gonna wait until yer on yer deathbed to get to Paradise? C’moooooooon! Least this way you can have Heaven come to _you!”_

He picks up his tumblr of _G and T,_ biting into a lime before taking a generous sip of the mix. 

“Ahh! Now that’s the good stuff!” he gives Charlie smirk, watching her add a little cream and sugar to her brew.

“Damn, we gotta get you outta yer shell, kid! What _have_ you done besides _sittin’ pretty?_ Give t’ the poor? Adopted a few orphans?”

“I became a volunteer to _read_ to orphans, actually.” 

Angel snorts. “Ya, of _course,_ you did. I’m guessing ya think dancin’ is rockin’ on yer feet back and forth while keepin’ yer hands on your date’s shoulders! _Real fun!”_

Charlie raises her nose to the ceiling then, picking up her brew. “It _is_ fun.” she sips. “And I actually _do_ know how to dance.”

His attention snaps back, now interested. “Do ya now?”

“And sing.”

“Yeah, yeah, so I heard ya _several_ times. I still remember yer all ‘bout that ‘Blue Danube Blues’ deal! Ya only turned it up on yer radio every time!”

Not that he really minded. He listened in on the few times she sang in her room, the sound drifting through the house like a siren’s tune. He has to admit, she’s got a voice better than any mere _scat_ he’s heard. Kinda like an operetta singer. Should she ever decide to sing to the public, she’d probably be plucked off and given a one-way ticket to Broadway or Hollywood. 

Thing is this girl’s so skittish, he doubts she’ll be able to perform in front of a crowd.

“I’m curious. Ya got some _pipes._ Why not look into singin’ as a career? I can already tell ya, you’d have them pantin’ at yer feet!”

Angel’s interested in the way she fumbles her teacup mid-lift, saucer tight in her grip when some drops spill from the sides. Impatiently, he lays his chin in his hand, leaning over until she’s nose to nose with him, to which she leans back to return the distance between them.

“Well?”

Looking away, she places down her teacup in resignation. “I used to. I sang with the church choir in Spring Forest years ago, but… something happened in my life that made me have to give it up.”

“Was it a boy?”

“Heavens! No!” But as soon as she denies it, Sebastian’s face brandishes in her mind. His insults. Her transformation… A finger traces the lip of the saucer. “Not technically.”

“‘Technically’ tells me ‘yes, it _was_ a boy’, toots.” He responds cheekily, delight fluttering in his lashes, and all the girl can do is stifle a groan. “What’d he do? Break your heart? Expose your deepest, darkest secret?” Then he feigns shock, fingers over his gasping lips. “He took your _purity,_ didn’t he?”

A sputter balks, embarrassment fueling her heated reply with more force than she believes herself capable. “I would _never!”_

When he recoils in surprise at her outburst, she reels back in shame, hand falling over her lips. _How unladylike!_ She should really be more careful with her outbursts. 

_It’s because of one I’m in this mess in the first place_.

“...To put it clearly, I had already ended things with him. He was cruel and I had just about enough of him, but then he sought me out because he wanted to ‘rekindle’ our relationship.” She narrows her eyes bitterly. “I refused, of course, but then he said some things that…provoked me so much, I reacted.”

“... And that reaction was in a public space and it put you in a bad light, thus you were kicked out of the church, I’ll bet?”

“...No.” Her fingers twine together, thinking back to the warmth and understanding given to her and Vaggie. “Quite the opposite. They comforted and encouraged me. However, the outburst had put me in such an undesirable position, I needed to move. Since then, I haven’t sung in public.”

 _Just what could have been so bad that she had to_ move? _There’s obviously something she ain’t telling me!_

He ponders for a moment to his initial guess of her being a hidden psycho under all that blonde, but instead of being off put, he leans in curiously, his tumbler lingering on his glittering lips. 

“If a tantrum is all it took for you to stop singin’, doll, ya got some issues I ain’t even sure some good _bootleg_ can help with. C’mon, toots, gimme the goods! Yer leavin’ me hangin’ here!”

Charlie picks up her teacup again. “I’m not… comfortable with revealing that part.”

 _I knew it. She_ is _a real firecracker under all that! Probably almost killed him!_

Angel raises a grin, secretly plotting. He’ll find out just how ‘pure’ Ms. Goody Two-Shoes really is. Angel then turns a curious eye toward the piano player. 

Immediately, a thoughtful hand cradles his chin, his eyes turning up to the stage just as the dancers start vacating behind the curtains. With another quick glance, he also happens to notice the pianist is taking requests for songs. 

It’s then he gets an idea, turning a large, challenging grin in her direction, one which she returns a quirked brow and an unsure peek behind her cup. 

“Stay here.” he demands, quickly turning on his heel and makes a mad dash for the piano player off the side of the stage. 

Charlie is left perplexed by his sudden departure, holding onto her teacup like a lifeline when she is overwhelmed by the sensation of being watched. Placing it down, she fiddles with her fingers nervously. With the loneliness came the questions, her conscience eating at her. 

After all, they snuck out to get here. Talking to Angel at least put her mind at ease, made her forget that she allowed herself to fall into his plan. Neither her guardian nor her mentor deserved this amount of dishonesty. Oh, now she’s more than certain she should have asked.

So _what_ if they might have said no? At least, Charlie wouldn’t feel like something’s gnawing in her chest. 

Sighing, Charlie looks around the facility again, examining the architecture of the lower levels of this restaurant. Seeing its dazzling interior makes this place feel legitimate and lawful, and even the amount of people here makes the whole thing feel so natural. So blissful of what consequences could creep upon them were they to be found out. She watches the ladies walk so confidently, so brazen in the way they spoke and howled with yelping laughter at the poker tables. 

She feels so out of place here. She must stick out like a sore thumb, and she nervously tugs on her bob.

_Still short…_

She breathes in deeply, looking to her left. Many patrons stand at the bar with friends, nursing cigars and cheap cigarettes, gulping down stouts and having pleasant conversation. Except for one.

A single man who stands silently with his back to the bar.

“Back, kitten!”

Charlie gasps, shoulders jumping with gooseflesh when she turns to an impish Angel, his cheeks red from the quick getaway. 

“Hope I didn’t make ya wait too long!”

“Where did you run off to?” 

“You’ll see!” he cackles. “I got a surprise fer you here in the next few! ‘Till then, let’s talk some gossip!”

Relieved can Charlie put her nagging conscience to rest, the stranger forgotten, and they continue in conversation, breaking more of the ice about their lives, their childhoods. 

Well…Charlie did. She told Angel about the orphanage, Vaggie adopting her, about meeting the man who gave her all the gifts with every year, fiddling happily with her apple blossom pendant to which Angel gives a glance with brand new interest. 

“Lookin’ at _Father Time,_ I figured he wouldn’t think twice about shooting me on the spot. Seems he _does_ have a heart!”

“Corporal Husk is actually very kind, once you get to know him!”

“He’s also your trainer, you say?”

“Mmhm!”

“Training in what exactly?”

At first, she held her tongue against telling him. Except Angel countered her with big, mismatched sad eyes and pouty puppy lips. 

“You’ll laugh.”

Angel then holds up a hand and crosses over his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die, _I will not laugh._ Capiche?”

Still very uncertain, even with the assurance of crossing his heart, she takes a deep breath, drains the rest of her cup, places it back on the bar, then exhales.

 _Maybe I should have ordered something after all._ “To hunt....” she whispers, so low, Angel couldn’t hear her.

“Say what?”

Charlie mumbles again.

“Little bit louder, please. Whispered pillow talk voice ain’t yer strong suit. Do ya need some liquid courage after all to spit it out?”

“I hunt _demons,_ okay?” she utters out at length.

Angel stares at her, jaw falling agape. Wide enough to where Charlie could count up to three gold teeth in his mouth. He blinks once, then again, mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish.

What feels like an eternity passes between them, until Charlie dreads the growing smile when his cheeks begin to inflate.

She knows then he would not keep his promise, already lowering her face into her hands.

A long, loud, howling laughter unleashes for the whole room to hear, and immediately, Charlie regrets ever telling him, shielding her face from curious onlookers, and for a moment, she even wonders about the stranger she had taken a gander at. She doesn’t bother looking to be sure. 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, but ya gotta be yankin’ my chain here, kitten!” Angel wipes away tears of mirth, catching his breath before looking over to the embarrassed dame. “You tellin’ me that rumpus you three were yakkin’ about in that alley was just some dope– _”_

“Angel, please!!” She slaps her hand over his mouth before the rest of the room has a chance to hear, her face now reflective of a cherry tomato. “Not so loud! I already know how crazy it sounds, alright! I thought it was crazy too!” 

Angel tries to remove her hands from his face, but she already pulls her hands off of his lips, not allowing him to have a word in when she continues. 

“But something happened that I couldn’t,” she tucks her hair behind her ear uncomfortably, the remembrance of Sebastian and her transformation still as bitter as gall on her tongue, “…ignore it.”

“What? Would it have anything to do with that tantrum you mentioned against loverboy?” he cackles, leaning his arm on the bar, smirking widely at the girl beside him.

“I don’t expect you to understand, and I’m fine with that.” she huffs, frowning when she brings the teacup back to her lips. “But it’s something I have to do. That’s all there is to it!” 

Angel bats his hand, still not ceasing his laughter. “Oh, yeah, yeah, no worries, babe, I _totally_ get it! I ain’t stoppin’ ya from your pious mission to end the devil’s plans and free us poor souls!” 

“What about you?” she glares pointedly, Angel suddenly thoughtful. “Surely, you have some spiders in your closet?”

A gloved hand bats away the question, making her pout. “Nah, you’re better off being spared that sob story. It ain’t sunshine and rainbows, and it sure ain’t for the faint of heart.”

“Well, fighting demons isn’t exactly for the faint of heart either.” _Even though I have yet to come face to face with one just yet._ “There must have been _something_ about your childhood you enjoyed.”

“ _Oh yeah_! The New York pizza was good!” _Not like this deep-dish baloney they serve here_ , he recoils with a huff. “Especially when the business owners were scared shitless of messin’ yer order up and the cops were paid off to look the otha way!”

“That’s awful!”

“At least it wasn’t Jersey.” he remarks, snapping and finger-gunning her.

“Oh, come on! You always say that! New Jersey can’t possibly be that bad!”

“Because it IS that bad! New York is a nasty piece a’ work with its underbelly, but it has its perks to make up for it! Jersey does not! Jersey is just evil! Why do you think New York gangsters use it as one of their dumping grounds?”

“Don’t be cruel!” She couldn’t believe herself, accepting Angel’s stories with no more than a scold. “How can you be so callous?”

“Because it's _Jersey_!” Angel barks. “A barren dumpy land that’s actually a chunk of Hell that got lost up on the Earth and brought one of its demons with it!”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Angel balks. “You don’t know about the Jersey Devil?! The incident with the fucking _Navy_ in ‘09!? Kitten, did you live yer whole life in a convent?”

“An orphanage, actually.” she deadpans. “Are you always this nice to your friends?”

“Only the cute ones.”

“May I have your attention please!!” 

All eyes turn toward the stage, where the pianist now stands for all to see with a dramatic flare of his fingers. His freckled face smiles wide, despite the dark, tired circles around his eyes, his buck-teeth poking through a confident smile when he gestures toward the bar. 

“Tonight we have a very special treat to entertain us today from none other than Angel Dust, your friendly neighborhood working boy!”

Charlie starts, gaping over to her friend when he only waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“He’ll be performing for us a lovely scat for us, one of the best compositions of the century, in my humble opinion! Mr. Dust, if you would be so kind, please make your way up to the stage!”

A spotlight falls on Angel, and inadvertently, unto Charlie as well, who gulped at the sudden heat of the spotlight, but moreso, under the staring eyes. The feeling of being watched is multiplied, and she curls in quickly, eyes to the floor of a pristine carpet.

Angel sashays away from her, pulling the limelight away. Any indication of his wounds are lost to the public, who could only stare at the confidence in which he carries himself. Elegance and fearlessness in his approach to the stage, even Charlie is instantly attracted to the natural courage by which he displays himself, brazen like a tiger prowling proudly across the jungle. 

Once he jumps unto the stage, he shoots out a finger, and places it under the announcer's chin, a flirtatious smile exchanged with an intense gaze. The announcer does not reciprocate, and is quick to jump away from Angel’s touch with a deep grimace of disgust. The _gigolo_ only cackles his characteristic laughter, taking the microphone into his hands to breathe an entrancing greeting.

“Heya, babes. Who here knows a thing or two about broken hearts?”

Charlie blanches when the rest of the bar gave a proper chuckle, some men raising their glasses with a few of the women. Without meaning to, Charlie looks beside her. To the silent man, with his head bowed low. There is no movement, nor even acknowledgement from the patron, and Charlie thinks for a moment he fell asleep standing up. Until she sees him rolling the glass in his hand. 

“Ha! Chumps! I’m normally the one breakin’ ‘em!” 

More laughter from the bar, and some exasperated groans. Charlie rolls her eyes in good humor. 

“But if ya lookin’ fer a night t’ ferget yer woes, guys and dolls…” he purrs, once more rolling his good shoulder.

She turns at the bar, pinching her nose with a soft laugh. _He’s unbelievable!_

“Why don’t ya imagine me singin’ this in yer ear, and all yer sadness will go away…” 

Shaking her head, Charlie sits her chin on an open hand when she looks behind her shoulder. He is far too brazen, and she wonders how he came to gain so much self-confidence with such a colorful history.

On the other hand, she envies him. 

Her smile falls when the music begins to crescendo into being, her eyes looking down to her hand. Even though she wears black lace gloves, she can still feel the mark making its presence known. Hiding it doesn’t make it any less heavy. In fact, there’s something heavier in concealing it. She’s doing everything she can to turn the tides of the future, now with the basic proficiency in Latin and Hebrew. 

Charlie had even gone to the orphanage to surprise Abbess Judith and was so happy to accept a volunteering position to read to them every Wednesday and Friday. She had tried to tell Vaggie and Husk the news before she had accidentally walked into Angel’s room and found such…unspeakable objects littered about that she had forgotten to tell them altogether. She’s on her way to change the world, and save the lives of many! She can finally give Chicago the redemption it deserves!

Yet her own confidence is shattered, even before she discovered her heritage and ultimate purpose; All because she was stupid enough to give in to Sebastian's charms. When the opportunity presented itself to prove herself as a savior on the night she and Angel fought those _goons,_ she almost lost herself to her inner demon. She made an absolute fool of herself!

If Angel hadn’t kicked off that man from strangling Charlie, she is too fearful to even imagine how he could have seen her. 

Filling her her teacup again with a heavy sigh, she listens to the swooning velvet slipping into her ears, and she turns back, astonished to hear Angel’s voice is learned, expertly weaving an enchanting tune across the walls that entrances the audience into silence.

_I wonder why I always sigh the way I do!_

_And now, it seems that all my dreams are all of you._

_You used to be so nice to me in days gone by,_

_But all that now is changed, somehow; I wonder why!_

Once again, Charlie is rendered silent, her teacup yet lifted to her eyes when she looks back to Angel, watching his head bow and weave when he caresses the mic again and whispers deeply.

_You called me "Baby Doll" a year ago._

_You told me I was very nice to know._

_I soon learned what love was, I thought I knew,_

_But all I've learned has only taught me how to love you._

_You made me think you loved me in return;_

_Don't tell me you were fooling after all,_

_For if you turn away, you'll be sorry someday,_

_You left behind a broken doll._

The way he hooked the audience with his confidence bolsters in the strangely sensitive song, relaxing Charlie to nuzzle her cup in a soft sigh. How lonely, and so very relatable. All the more, her envy grows, for with his song came the yearning to sing again. She misses the church. She misses the orphans for whom she sang lullabies.

But she has no right to sing again. Until she can finally be certain of the world’s future, until she’s ‘fixed’, this ‘broken doll’ she’s become, she cannot sing again.

Angel sings with such understanding and emotion. Nothing at all of how he carries himself, so cocksure and arrogant, with a smirk ever upturned at the anger Vaggie oftentimes had been the giver of. He always remains unphased, always quick to slight and slow to obedience.

As long as he was the recipient of her wrath, he was always wearing his arrogant smirk, a smirk now nowhere to be seen. Like a shed mask.

_You'd bring me flow'rs and stay for hours with me alone;_

_You led me to believe that you were all my own,_

_You let me see you wanted me; why don't you now?_

_I'll prove I'm true if only you will show me how._

Maybe that’s why she hasn’t sung as well. Because in doing so, her mask would be shed. She’s too afraid for anyone to learn who she is.

 _What_ she is.

She plays with her fingers some more when her eyes drift. The lone patron still hasn’t raised his head even to listen to Angel, except to sip his drink. 

As though her thoughts had been heard, the stranger raises his head, and this time, it’s too late for Charlie to turn away her gaze.

Her heart jumps in her throat when she sees she’s been caught, pulling the teacup up quickly in pretense the exchange of glances had been an incidental happenstance when she lifts to take another drink.

Not wishing to make more of a fool of herself, Charlie turns back to the stage, now wholly focused on the rest of Angel’s performance. She has no desire to give anyone the wrong impression of her.

_You called me "Baby Doll" a year ago._

_You told me I was very nice to know._

_I soon learned what love was, I thought I knew,_

_But all I've learned has only taught me how to love you._

_You made me think you loved me in return;_

_Don't tell me you were fooling after all,_

_For if you turn away, you'll be sorry someday,_

_You left behind a broken doll._

Applause rings through the halls, even Charlie putting aside her teacup to stand on her feet to clap. Whistles and hoots rise to pierce her ears, just as Angel waves a hand with feigned humility. 

“Thank you, thank you, yer too kind! Oh, no, you’re too much! Actually, this ain’t too much at all. Gimme more, baby!”

Once again, the room breaks into laughter, with Charlie only shaking her head.

_They didn’t see._

He doesn’t come down from the stage, even as the applause dies down when he takes the mic again, waving a hand to signal the command for silence. The applause dies, when Charlie frowns in confusion.

_Is he going to sing something else?_

“And now, ladies and gentleman, I got one more surprise fer all o’ ya. I ain’t the only one with a nice set of _pipes_ fer your entertainment. In fact, I want ya t’ hear a real _canary_ in disguise, and lemme tell ya, this gal will _bring the house down_ once ya get a load of her voice.” He removes the mic from the stand when he walks to one side of the stage, taking control of the audience with his flare. 

“Give a round of applause, gents! This li’l Jane is finally popping her cherry in enterin’ one o’ these joints! Maestro?” The bar roars into cheers just as Angel gestures to the pianist, who impatiently taps his foot crossed over his knee.

Charlie’s breathing grows slow and shallow, praying she’s wrong about whom he’s talking about.

He wasn’t talking about _her_ , was he? 

_Angel, please no…!_

“Play ‘Blue Danube Blues’ fer the blonde babydoll there. Name Charlie,” she overhears Angel jubilantly tell the pianist.

Charlie chokes on her tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo yo, guys and gals! The weeks have been insane haven't they? Welp, I hope our new chapter has been helping everyone forget the craziness of political wars and the plague running about but know that y'all are special to someone and you're not alone. This coming Christmas, let's ask Santa and the Baby Jesus to help us remember to love again. 
> 
> Learn to look past what someone believes in and hold eachother. Just love for the sake of love.
> 
> IN OTHER NEWS, IM SURE Y'ALL ALREADY HAVE A WILD GUESS AS TO THIS MYESTERIOUS 'STRANGER' IS, DON'T YOU!? WE ARE SO EXCITED TO SHOW Y'ALL THE NEXT CHAPTER, WHICH WILL BE UP SOONER THAN LATER, BABES!
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS AND LATERRRS!
> 
> WifeoftheSouless and FurorNocturna, signing off! 
> 
> Burlesque - in America, in relation to a variety show format of entertainment, which included flashy and risque performances and costumes  
> rent boy - male prostitute  
> bunny - lost girl; confused  
> bearcat - fiery or temperamental woman  
> babydoll, dame, kitten, doll - Terms of endearments for 'girl'  
> baloney - bullcrap  
> Mrs Grundy - An uptight woman  
> giggle water - alcohol  
> noodle juice - tea  
> uptown - rich  
> square - an uptight person  
> Father Time - term for a man over 30  
> gigolo - male prostitute  
> goons - mafia followers  
> bring the house down - similar to 'rock this thing'; something exciting is about to happen  
> pipes - throat or voice  
> canary - singer
> 
> Translations
> 
> Madre de dios - Spanish; Mother of God
> 
> Ciao - Italian; informal greeting or farewell  
> Muoviti - Italian; step on it!


	7. Nursery Rhymes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancer of Shadows, your prey of sunlight.
> 
> Bid her farewell, and sigh the moon’s plight.
> 
> She cannot go further, a sorrow’s strain,
> 
> The Bella Luna keens for her shadow’s wane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Link, 'Blue Danube Blues' https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=uKkrUFXYJ84

**Proverbs 30:18-19 “** Three things are too wonderful for me, yes, four I cannot understand: The way of an eagle in the sky, the way of a serpent upon a rock, The way of a ship on the high seas, and the way of a man with a woman.”

* * *

A hand harshly pats her back until her airway clears of any tea left lingering, Angel chuckling nervously in her stead when the piano player taps his foot impatiently for the singer’s approach. At last, when Charlie can finally breathe properly, she turns over an exasperated stare toward her companion, who only scratches the back of his head sheepishly.

“Er… Surprise? Didn’t expect you were gonna choke t’ death!” Angel snickers. “Yer up, doll!”

Fear brims in her twin onyx stare. “Why did you do that?!”

He raises his hands. “If you’re worried about the song, I already got ya covered. You’re gonna sing that showtune you were yapping at me about how much you loved!”

“‘Blue Danube Blues’?!”

“That’s the one!” he laughs, completely oblivious to her reluctance. “Now go break a leg! _In bocca al lupo_!”

“Angel! That song’s a duet!!”

“Wait, what?”

“Will Miss Charlie please come to the stage!”

Angel gives a painful grimace, hissing under his breath. “Oooooh, _applesauce_ …why didn’t you say earlier it was a duet tune!?”

“How did you not remember if you’ve heard me sing to it so many times?!”

“I always heard you sing both parts!” The pianist calls out again, prompting the _ethel_ to break into nervous laughter, waving back. “What are you waiting for? Get on up there!”

“ _I can’t solo a duet_!!”

“I’ll be right up there with ya!”

“Do you even know the lyrics?”

Angel fumbles. “Uhhh…”

“Night’s not getting any younger. We need to get a move on.” 

The pianist’s impatience spurs Angel to act, refusing to accept his blunder. 

A shrill cry pierces his ear, Charlie’s weight surprising him when he picks her up, looping his arms around her shoulders and under her knees to quickly usher her toward the stage.

“ _Angel!!_ ” 

“Just wing it!” he speeds across the dance floor. “It’ll work itself out, trust me! Up ya go!”

Charlie could only yelp in protest as her taller friend all but drops her onto the stage. Her landing is a little shaky, but the girl is quick to catch herself. He backs away when she tries to reach out for his hand.

All she can do is squeak out when the warm bath of light suddenly overtakes her.

The hot, damning eye of the spotlight.

“There she is, everyone! And isn’t she a _choice bit of calico!_ ” Whistles erupt through the bar, and Charlie’s tongue dries on her throat, a cold sweat breaking across her forehead. A palm presses her chest, timing her breaths with every pat, but she fails to summon her comfort. 

_Deeps breaths… Deep breaths..._

“So, _babydoll_ , who will be your singing partner?”

With a gulp, Charlie attempts a smile, placing her hand over the microphone. “...I don’t have one.”

She can just make out Angel grimacing apologetically at her in the crowd.

The pianist quirks an eyebrow, before rolling his head with exasperation when he impatiently gestures to the crowd.

“Audience, we have a small hitch! This poor _bunny_ is without a _cat_ to scat with! Now don’t be shy, gentleman! Who will be the lucky fella joining our little darling?”

There was a mumbled stir among the crowd. From the sound of it, they’re excitable enough to hear the popular _Good Morning, Dearie_ showtune, but no one moves to join her on stage.

All the more, Charlie stands dismayed on the wooden stage, her hand reaching up into her curls to tug gently. She smooths out a single curl, praying her anxiety to ease. Looking up to the pianist, she tries to wave for his attention, succeeding when he looks up with a scowl. 

She nods remorsefully. “It’s alright. If no one is willing to sing with me, I’ll be glad to step dow–”

“Allow me, _ma chère_.”

Charlie’s eyes shoot forward, finding a single finger raised high in the air above the heads of the crowd gathering in front of the stage. 

Like the Red Sea, the audience parts a path for the volunteer to approach, and instantly, Charlie’s is hit with recognition of the white, Panama hat of the lone stranger who stood quietly at the bar.

He stands straight, the tumbler of Cognac in his hand. Under the brim of his hat, a large smile peers before he quaffs what’s left of the drink with a satisfied sigh, placing down a tumbler full of ice with mesmerizing elegance. He stoops, grabbing an umbrella when he tosses it up and catches it without a hesitation, grace and confidence in each movement when it twists in his hand like a baton. He walks with a swagger, and a weave of his toes, and the whole bar is silenced by a wordless command his mere presence utters.

In contrast to Angel’s sashaying walk from before, where each sensual stride was deliberated to entice, this one walks with theatrical authority. The room is silent with anticipation, and even Charlie’s anxiety is now completely erased upon the sight of this impeccably garbed stranger, shoulders broad in an carmine suit echoing the autumn breeze and glacé wingtips shining with the brilliance of black ice.

Then he lifts his gaze.

The intensity of twin earths strikes her dumb, jubilation and boldness overflowing with charm. Instantly, Charlie is taken in, left breathless under the weight of his unmoving stare. A flourish of wonder pools in her pattering breast, a new rhythm replacing the fear she was only entrapped in moments ago.

“Well well well, ladies and gentleman, ain’t this a _sockdollager_! We’ve got our very own Mister A performing for us!” 

_Mr. A?_

“Hold on to your hats, gentleman! You’re in for a treat!”

The gleam in his low-set _cheaters_ combined with his shining showman’s smile is blinding, even when he leaps up the steps two at a time. He towers above her up close, prompting her to back up a step. Not that he takes offense to her retreat. His amusement is far too apparent, bright in his stare.

Placing down his umbrella to the far side of the stage, he suddenly removes his hat and bows, startling her. His hair is carefully coiffed to the right of his forehead, blazes of browned auburn aflame under electric light. 

“My dear, may I have the honor of singing with you this evening?” 

Unable to speak beyond her awe, her head gives a stilted nod. Twisting his wrist back, he flips his hat back onto his head. He acknowledges the pianist with a snap, who excitedly situates himself. 

“Take it away, my good man!”

The pianist swivels back to his instrument, fingers dancing along the keys and finding his preferred note. “Ladies and gentleman, this dapper duo of a crowd favorite and stage newcomer! Performing ‘Blue Danube Blues’!”

A trill of the merry prelude, Charlie’s singing partner is quick to take her hand, her shoulders jumping at the sudden contact when she’s guided to the microphone. 

He’s not forceful, holding onto her fingers delicately with gentle beckon, until she’s pulled close enough to see beyond his diacles. The colors of his brown gaze beholds more than the simple hue of soil. She sees the glimpse of honey in the light, the enchantment of the golden amber of November’s breath.

She is much less prepared for what she is to hear the moment he sings the first verse.

_When a chap would utter_

_words that make him stutter_

_To a girlie sweet~_

It takes her substantial force of will not to gape. Of course, she had little doubt he would be skilled but this? This stranger’s rich tenor was positively spellbinding.

_At her stare, he's well aware_

_That he has lots of hands and feet._

While still holding her hand, his other hand shakes freely, and his feet tap rapidly in rhythm, startling her with a laugh.

_Then some kind musician,_

_Seeing his position,_

_Softly starts to play…_

_His arm slips in haste_

Charlie gasps when his arm strongly surrounds her waist.

‘ _Round her slender waist_

He lifts her into a spin, so smooth it feels like she’s floating in his arms.

_And quite boldly, he'll say:_

He leans in close, her senses rapt in the heady embrace of his sandalwood cologne. The intensity of his bewitching eyes, her breaths frozen when the tip of his nose stops at hers. 

Velvet strains continue to rise from his lips.

_I'll…be… the~_

_Bluest of the blue_

Then she feels the nudge of his fingers, her feet subconsciously following the guidance of his movements backwards, then sideways, until they complete the imaginary box at their feet, her mind quick to recall the steps of the foxtrot.

_When I'm without you,_

_The truest of the true_

He stops, wagging a finger at her.

_I'll never doubt you_

_How wonderful that you,_

He spins her once, her dress billowing around her ankles.

_With all the world from which to choose~_

_Selected me to be the apple of your eye,_

A tap to his lense, his dazzling smile calming her to burst into a flutter of giggles.

_I can't resist you_

Her titters cease the moment his warm palm cups her cheek, her breath stolen when his nose once more slants unto hers; but once again, he stops short of her lips.

_And that's the reason why_

She gasps when he leans closer.

_I kissed you_

A finger taps her nose, leaving her dumbfounded as he continues to pull her into another twirl.

_When the band was playing_

_The tune that sets me swaying,_

_The Blue Danube Blues_

In a fright, she throws her hands on his shoulders when she’s dipped low. Her waist held tight in his audacious leadership, she’s put oddly at ease by his touch, awed by his strength and finesse when he pulls her upright. 

He gestures to the microphone, snapping Charlie awake from the enchantment before she can miss her cue! She opens her lips, steeling her solar plexus for a crystal strain.

_That sweet old strain_

_We hear again_

_The Danube Blue_

_Each note rang true_

Her partner beams with intrigue, his eyes and attention only on her as she sings and dances along. Her confidence grows and her movements embolden as she lets herself be pulled into another twirl. 

_For other ears_

_In bygone years_

_  
So don’t refuse_

_When we choose_

_Play the old Blue Danube Blues_!

Her newly found _moxie_ persists as they harmonize their refrains in the next cadence of the song. Their steps synchronized into a natural prance, a more lively tempo rises to their shoes clip and clop.

The music slows again for her following solo verse.

_Playing all alone, a kid of seven_

_In the park across the way~,_

An olden boldness fills her spirit! Her voice carries with the strength of an ocean tempest, swaying the walls with winds of an enamored audience, a cheer raised through the tables, even from women who once looked upon the shy woman with envy. 

All the more, Mr. A trills when she begins to raise her arms in a mindless bout of independence.

_I thought I was nearing Heaven_

_When the band began to play._

_Ev'ry sweet and pretty_

_Shop girl in the city_

_Danced there with her beau;_

_Now my man I've found,_

_Mister, stick around,_

_Since I met you I know:_

He grips her hand firmly when a gale of laughter leaps from their chests! Their feet in flight, two cardinals trail a banner of scarlet and carmine in deceptively choreographed steps. The stars abright in her gown, Charlie is overwhelmed by the blinding passion in her chest, her voice and movements overflowing the senses of the awestruck crowd below them. 

Even Angel can’t keep his mouth from falling open, completely captivated by the natural cause-and-effect between the pair when they both cease abruptly to deliver their final chorus. 

_I'll…be… the~_

The _sheik_ lilts.

_That…sweet…old~_

And Charlie caps the final solo, once more yanked into the stranger’s arms when she allows herself to be dipped again, this time, sharing a big smile with her partner. Their laughter unites in jubilation, quaking through their bodies with infectious mirth.

The pianist picks up the tempo for the final chorus. 

The prompt allegro doesn’t phase the two singers, who seamlessly keep in time with the rhythm both in lyric and in dance as he pulls her back to her feet with ease, but not releasing her hands as he bares down to her at the final plunk of the pianist’s excitable finale.

Charlie doesn’t mind a bit, holding to his hands tightly back as her deep breaths flutters his black bowtie. 

Unbeknownst to either of them, another pair of eyes watch them closely, the spell of the performance melted away from the way the two of them look at eachother; and Angel has an idea this event is only just beginning for his sweet bitty _bambolina._

He smirks knowingly when the establishment erupts into wild applause, the stranger stepping away from Charlie with her hand still in his own. They bow once, only for him to release her and then he too begins to clap for her, gesturing for the audience to cry louder for her. On command, whistles and cries rise higher for the shy singer, who cowers at the sudden volume change before she gives another timid curtsy.

Even when Mr. A descends down the steps, and helps her gingerly climb down after him, the applause does not cease for an extended period of time.

Angel comes through to the rescue when he takes her by the shoulders, nudging his head to the gentleman to follow him when he pushes her through the audience to reach their ordained place at the bar. Both men flank Charlie at her sides, acting as bodyguards to cut through the wall of people, only Charlie doesn’t hide her face this time.

She can’t stop staring at Mr. A, even when his eyes don’t meet hers in order to see where they’re going.

When she first saw him, she didn’t think much before of what could be under the Panama fedora. Simply another patron only here for a taste of _moonshine_ in idle loneliness, only to appear before her as a real _big timer_ with a golden voice! 

Just who is this _Oliver Twist_ who came to her rescue? 

_His name certainly can’t be ‘Mr. A’!_

At last, they reach their seats, miraculously empty of anyone who thought to steal it. As soon as the trio is alone, Charlie’s ear pops at the sound of Mr. A’s single clap! Both her and Angel lift their attention in question when he guffaws, delight on his face.

“ _Brava_ , my dear! _Brava_! You were magnificent! A true marvel of the stage!” the handsome stranger extols, taking her from Angel’s side and twirling her about once more.

_Oh, have mercy. I don’t think my heart can take it._

His hold is gone far too quickly once she’s set back down. Then the dashing gentleman removes his hat, pressing it over his heart as he takes her hand delicately into his own, looking up to her face through his lashes.

“Alastor D’Arcantel.” His lips warmly press to her knuckles, her stomach flipping at the contact.

“...I’m sorry?” she finally utters.

“My name, dearie! And a pleasure to be meeting you, sweetheart! _Quite a pleasure!_ Forgive my overt forwardness but I simply can’t resist! What a performance! Color me impressed by that glorious show of true passion! And you, my darling belle, would you mind telling me your name? I know it was said up on stage, but silly me! In all the excitement, I’ve gone and misplaced it amidst the recent memories of dancing with a lovely lady!”

He goes off faster than an auctioneer calling bids, she can hardly keep up. 

“Uhhhhhh…”

Alastor’s amusement only grows. “My my, my dear. Are you always so articulate?”

“CHARLIE! Magne!” she squeaks. “M-My name, um. It’s– I’m Charlie. Charlie Magne.”

Alastor taps his chin thoughtfully. “Hmmm ‘Charlie’... Excuse my presumptions, but that wouldn’t happen to be short for Charlotte, would it?”

“Uhh... yes?”

“Thought so!” he beams. “Only the prettiest dames I’ve seen are named Charlotte.” 

She feels faint as he winks her way.

“M-Me? ‘Pretty’? Goodness, that’s–! I mean, I’m often called a _Dumb Dora_ , a flake, a ditz, and other more…foul things…” _Good heavens, stop talking!!_ she chastises herself. “I’m sorry, it’s just you’re _gorgeous_ – I MEAN!!” 

_Why?!_ _Why would you say such a thing out loud!??_

“NOT THAT YOU’RE NOT! You’re a right _sheik_!” Charlie finds herself rambling off, dissolving into incoherent, flustered babbles. 

Angel has to keep himself from breaking into another bout of gut-busting laughter. The _bim_ can’t keep a straight face, not once catching herself from giving him the _sheep’s eye_! 

Alastor does not seem to mind in the slightest.

“Oh, a forward dame! Now that’s refreshing! And if you’ll allow me to be bold in return… _J’adore! Chapeau bas!_ You’re quite the starlet, my dear!” He again lowers himself to her level, still keeping her hand in his when he places another kiss. Charlie cracks into a bashful giggle.

 _Of course. Of_ **course** _he speaks French too!_

Angel takes this time to make his presence known, clearing his throat behind them. "So! Uh! Hey der, toots! Looks like you were saved by the bell!"

“And how! Talk about a lucky break!” Charlie chuckles nervously.

Angel smirks, studying the gentleman singer.

 _Damn, blondie. You reeled in the best catch of the lot outta this whole joint!_ he snorts jealously.

He extends his hand to the other, wagging his eyebrows.

"Anyhoo! Name’s Angel, babe. I would be the doll's..." He feels himself grimace, " _alarm clock_! But! Ya buy us some juice, and I can pretend I ain't seen a thing!"

The fire resurges in Charlie’s cheeks as her friend winks her way. “Angel! _Whatareyoudoing_!??”

“Keeping my promise, _bambolina_! So, whaddaya say, _handsome_?"

Alastor gives a hearty laugh, releasing Charlie’s hand to stand up straight. It’s a cold day in Hell when he meets someone taller than him. “Hard to argue with a bargain that’s such a steal as that! So it’s a deal, then?”

The young woman gapes, alternating her stare between them. 

"Babe, ya get me a Bees Knees, and the doll here a cherry wine, I'll be deaf, blind, _and_ dumb. It's a deal."

The two men shake hands amicably on it, Alastor slipping the Italian some _kale_ and sending him off.

Ogling at her companion, she almost breaks into a scold for practically propositioning her off, until Angel does pause before leaving, lowering his lips to Charlie’s ear. “If he does something you don’t like, scream and I’ll come running.”

Real concern oozes into her ears, the tone so unlike his brash character, the scold dies on her tongue. She pulls away to see his face, and once more, she’s astonished to the genuine care on his face.

Relief pools in her chest, her shoulders visibly deflating. Giving him a smile in return, she nods in agreement, Angel then leaving with a two-finger salute.

“Very well, then!” Alastor turns to Charlie. “May I have the honor to buy you a drink, Miss Magne?”

She takes a deep breath before nodding. “I, yes! If you insist? I’m perfectly fine with it!”

_Keep it together, Charlie! This is going swell, so don’t ball it up!!_

He offers his arm to her, patiently awaiting her. “So what’s your poison? Cherry wine?”

Taking his arm in turn, she actually looks down. “Honestly, I’ve never had it before.”

His eyes widen. “Now that’s a sin in and of itself! It’s as sweet as the dame I’m looking at.”

Charlie covers her lips, feeling strangely as his face lowers with a purr. When he leads them to sit at the bar once more, he’s quick to pull out the seat, waiting for her to sit. With a broad grin, she nods her thanks, swaying under his pleasant cologne as he situates himself beside her. Now that he’s still from the weaving and bobbing of a dance number, he’s even more majestic to look at. From the deep wine of his sharp suit to the sharp point of his nose. 

And his eyes, ever so comely in their harvest auburn. Even when she had met Sebastian, she can’t remember his soft blues making her falter so.

“So am I right to assume you’ve had some training in the arts, darling?”

 _Curse this man’s charm making me so weak-kneed_. “Oh no. Nothing so formal. Just a hobby since I was a little girl…”

“A mere _hobby_? Goodness me, you could have had me fooled, Miss Magne! Do tell! I’m mighty curious to hear about you!”

Once they order, their drinks are delivered swiftly, the reflection of the cherry wine blinking across her cheeks. Alastor openly admires the bejeweled dress, her sleeves resting off her shoulders to give him a clear view of the pink blush on her white skin, up to the red lips and naturally red cheeks. 

_How pretty you look in red..._

She looks at the wine with newfound fascination, taken by the prettiness of its pinkish hue. 

“You talk as if I’m the next _Marilyn Miller_!” she thoughtlessly begins to play with the base of her glass, unsure of where to start. “I’ve always sang ever since I was a little girl, and I was a part of a few choirs, but I’ve been out of it for a few years.”

“Why’s that?”

“Personal issues.” she quickly deflects, recalling Angel’s advice to never give too much personal information when meeting someone new. She huffs at herself. _Why am I taking his advice to heart all of a sudden?_

Alastor takes a sip, intrigued. 

“I forgot how different it was on stage. It was…”

"Exhilarating? Nerve-wracking? Addicting?" he smirks, playfully quirking his eyebrows. "No time like the present to get your feet wet, darling! Now when you say ‘choirs’, where exactly did you perform, dear? What troupe?”

“Weeeeeeell…” she drawls, feeling most self-conscious. “I was part of the children’s choir in St. Germain’s Orphanage and then St. Bartholomew's Church in Spring Forest before I moved away.”

"With what I heard, darling, seems like a waste of talent.”

Charlie starts in her seat.

“Don’t get me wrong, choirs are a spectacle to behold. Takes a mighty fine director to have that many people in pitch perfect condition, but you have the voice apart from the crowd. It doesn’t quite fit the mold, and that’s what’s so unique about it.” He taps his ear. “I’ve got an ear for these things, believe it or not. With a voice and a face like yours, I'm impressed no one's stolen you yet. I consider myself a lucky lad to be the first!"

“Well, I’ve never been much interested in becoming a Hollywood star, or anything like that, Mr. D’Arcantel. I simply enjoyed singing for the people I love, I suppose?” Charlie fidgets. “I’ve never sung in an establishment like this before, and honestly, I was so frightened. You came to my rescue in the nic of time. If at all, I’m the lucky one to have found a perfect dance partner on the first go.”

He raises a hand. "Oh, goodness! You’re far too kind, dear miss!” 

Meeting his eyes again, her heart thunders with weakness. She clears her throat, giving her wine a curious glance. Why was her…well, _everything_ getting all riled up in a tizzy for? He’s just a guy! Like Angel!

…A very _very_ handsome, mysterious and talented man who shares her passion for singing and dancing. With a voice that could beguile both angels and demons. By the Heavens, Charlie wants to express how incredible he was on stage, to tell him how much she adored every moment, but insecurities still her tongue to instead look over to her wine glass. 

Angel did say a good _quilt_ can help anyone gain some courage.

Hence why it’s earned the moniker, ‘liquid courage’.

Taking the plunge, she brings the glass up to her lips, humming at the strong smell when she takes a small sip.

Her back stiffens at the strong taste, giving it a glare.

Alastor gives her a small chuckle. “It’s an acquired taste, _ma chère._ Sip it enough times, the _hooch_ tends to soften on the tongue and you’ll taste the sweetness of the cherries.”

She gives him an apologetic smile. “A connoisseur as well, Mr. D’Arcantel?”

“I am many things, but we're not here to talk about me! Are you native Chicagoan? I can’t say I’ve seen you yet before around these parts!"

“Well...technically? I was born here but then moved away for over nine years. I moved out of town for four years, and only visited from time to time, but then I moved to Minnesota for five years. I only just moved back maybe three weeks ago. Everything’s changed now! I only remember the park and St. Germain’s Orphanage, but not most of the new shops. So, I suppose I’m as lost as a newbie at this point!” she chuckles.

“Well, isn’t that a funny happenstance! I myself am new in town to the _Mud City Beautiful_ , and still getting the hang of the change of scenery.”

“Oh? Where did you move from?” she then frowns in confusion. “Wait! If that's the case, how does everyone know you? The pianist called you ‘Mr. A’.”

“An alias I’ve made for myself as I’ve become a bit of a regular to this fine joint the short time I’ve been here. The musicians adore me for the shows I put on their stage and their claims the place has flooded in more patrons because of it. Who can say if it’s true, but I digress.” he waves off, the slightest Southern twang slipping into his speech through the Transatlantic accent. “To answer your other question, I hail from the Crescent City of Nawlins.”

“Goodness me! You’re quite a ways from the South!”

“Yes indeedy. The crown jewel of the South, if I do say so myself. Ever been?”

 _That explains the lovely accent…_ She shakes her head. “I haven’t much traveled any further than Minnesota, I’m afraid.”

“Shame! I could tell you how the whole city looks like the back of my hand. Hell, I could tell you where all the local _Blind Pigs_ are!”

Charlie tugs on her hair awkwardly. Alastor understands the gesture right away. 

“I’m guessing this is your first time in a place like this?” he smirks, taking up his Cognac to his lips.

She smiles. “Well… I’m not one for lying. I _have_ been in plenty of _juice joints,_ but not for the reason you may think. I was looking for someone, and I was informed he would frequent establishments like this.”

“Someone special?”

“In a way, yes.” Her smile is happy. “Not romantically, mind you.”

He shrugs in good nature. “Regardless, I daresay I’m jealous of the fellow you were so dedicated to find, even in places you’re not necessarily comfortable with.”

She laughs, fingers playing with the pendant around her neck. Alastor looks down, studying the golden petals of a blossom of some kind. Seems like a very precious trinket of hers.

“Well, rest easy, my good sir. He’s more…like a father to me. I was able to find him after a long time of searching, so I haven’t had a reason to enter a _speakeasy_ ever since. The last time was five years ago.”

 _Five years. The same amount of time she said she moved to Minnesota,_ he notes carefully. _What a boring state she ended up moving to! What was she able to do there?!_

“Tonight‘s really the first time I decided to come as a patron. Although, it was more to humor my friend…”

He raises his glass. “Well, then I owe your friend a great deal of gratitude for bringing you here. It was worth the _mazuma._ ” 

“I still can’t believe you actually paid for me to have a drink with you!”

An impish glint glows under his hat. “And I would have paid more.”

She squeals into her hand, stifling her embarrassed laughter. “Gracious, Mr. D’Arcantel!”

“And you’ve got the most beautiful laugh.”

“You’re quite the charmer!” she teases in a fit of giggles, trying to deter from her shyness. She finally calms herself, patting her hand to her chest before she dares give him a glance through her golden coils. She doesn’t find it fair that each of his compliments put her in a stupor. “I noticed immediately you don’t sound like a native at all, and I dare say I much prefer it to the norm of Chicago…” 

Charlie lays her chin on the back of her head, grinning sweetly.

While she may not have the desire to seek fame and fortune, one desire she’s always had was to see the world. New Orleans being the first, due to the radio host she loved listening to in her younger years. A dream she never much entertained, really.

“So, would you be alright with telling me about New Orleans? I’ve only read about its majesty in children’s books.”

“ _Bonté moi_ …”

Charlie can only hope she doesn’t look as dopey as she feels.

_No voice should possibly be this titillating!_

Alastor responds with a flourish of his hand. “It’s a city of mystery, festivals, jazz, and wonders that never cease. You’ll never find finer food, finer music, or a prettier place than that of Nawlins. From the city lights to even the miry bayous. Well worth a visit at least once before _biting the big one_.” he trails off in a reverie.

She looks at his whimsy, his face relaxed and his heart seems to sing with a fervor. Instinctively, she presses a hand to her heart when she feels the warmth of his adoration of his birthplace. 

"...Why on earth would you want to leave there? I mean…Chicago is beautiful in its own way, but it has some..." she trails off with another gesture. _How do I say ‘demonic infestations’ without sounding like a loon?_ "…frequent misfortunes."

Alastor shrugs. “Had a sudden burst of wanderlust the last few years. An insatiable urge to venture out and experience the other sights and cities this country has to offer. While they all have paled in comparison to my hometown, it’s been a thrilling experience all the same. Can’t give a full verdict on Chicago yet having only moved here recently, but I’m starting to see more of the allure seeing as it’s where I met the darling belle next me tonight.”

Charlie tenses, pressing her cheeks.

Even rubbing them in a circular motion to fight back the flush of emotion, Charlie feels her bare shoulders reveal the evidence of the pink bashfulness overtaking her white skin.

"Flatterer! It was you who came to _my_ rescue. If anything, you’re the one who reminded me Chicago has its moments of beauty.” Then her smile softens in memory. “Just like the parks. I may not remember much of the city itself, but I could tell you everything about the parks! Plots of land preserved from any urbanization and full of beautiful sights of their own. Especially the Ho-o-den Pavilion and garden on the Wooded Island in Jackson Park.”

She fiddles with her wine glass, recollecting the river and the bridge of the elegant garden reminding her of a fairytale.

“It looks beautiful during the night, shining under the moonlight, but is just as breathtaking in the day. Especially when the cherry blossoms are in full bloom! I love all the parks, but the Ho-o-den was always my favorite of the sights. I may not be able to show you the city sights, but park sights are well worth seeing on their own." Charlie falters as she realizes she sounds like she's asking him on a date. Frantically, she curls a hand to her breast. "Of course, if our schedules allowed it..."

Alastor chuckles good-naturedly, rubbing his chin. _What a treat, this dear girl is!_ “A moonlight stroll in the park to an island garden under the stars? Quite romantic, _chérie_. And you call me the flatterer. Was my first impression really that dandy you’ve already made the decision to _step out_ with me?”

She must look like a cherry tomato right now.

"I didn't mean _now_! And I'm not much good at…well, _this_ , if you haven't noticed!" she corrects. "And I couldn't just leave my friend by himself. I mean, it was nice of him to give us privacy, but I would be rude to just leave him here..."

His grin brightens. “So you _are_ set on the idea of a date at a later point in time?”

"Uh!!" Good heavens, she can't seem to catch a break. All the same, he's so charming she can’t help but laugh at her own fumbling. 

"Oh my, I'm terrible at this..." Charlie responds, awfully winded when she catches her breath.

“I’d say you’re getting the hang of it. It’s quite refreshing, I admit, to meet someone who wears her emotions on her sleeve.”

 _Is that so rare?_ Charlie wonders, studying his expression. Although it was an honest mistake, she truly wouldn’t mind at all spending more time with him. _But it wouldn’t be possible, if Husk’s warnings ring true. Having a relationship would be impossible with what I do._

Charlie looks down at her hand, sighing. Still, she can’t help but want to humor the glimmer of hope in her childish heart.

"...But would you, if our schedules allowed it, Mr. D'Arcantel?" She fiddles with the wine on the counter, peeking at him through her hair. _Please, oh please! Tell me I didn’t just make a bigger fool of myself!_

Russet eyes twinkle behind his low-set cheaters. “…I’d say I’d be _delighted_ , Miss Magne.”

She sighs a laugh, in some way, depressed. With the waning time, and the reality of her situation, she’s more than certain this will probably be the one and only time she can ever feel…

Normal.

Just a normal girl, with a normal crush, dancing the night away in a not-so-normal encounter with a wonderful man.

So, smiling softly, she dares taste the wine again, this time prepared for the strange taste when she begins to savor it.

As promised, the sweetness underlies the burn of alcohol. An ‘acquired taste’, he calls it. Whether it was to summon her own boldness or to prove herself able to drink the stuff, she turns openly to Alastor, tucking her hair behind her ear with a beckoning stare of her own. She tilts her head with a pretty flutter, her lips raised with invitation.

He seems to take note of her contemplative silence, their chests thrumming with a new beat of a cello’s whine.

"So...care to ask me to dance?" Even for her moment of boldness, she still feels her cheeks warm.

Alastor’s grin only widens, pausing for a few seconds before he comes to his feet, taking his hat from his head to place over his heart when he offers his hand to her.

“With pleasure.” Dare he say he was a touch _eager_ to see what other toe-tapping talent this lovely little _live wire_ possesses? “Shall we?”

Charlie takes his offered hand, looking at his glove with interest. Instinctively, she wonders if he too has something to hide under his thicker gloves. However, her pondering is chased away the moment he pulls her to her feet. She shouldn’t be so rude as to assume everyone else had secrets just because she has them. 

And she’d rather pretend, for tonight, she doesn’t have any to hide.

"Without question."

Angel, in the middle of winning himself another round of cards, looks back to the doll and 'Smiles', as he decides to designate him. With another Bees Knees in his hand, he grins proudly at the young _Jane_ when they start walking hand in hand to the dance floor again, this time joining the rest of the slow dancers.

He titters. Maybe if Smiles pays him enough, he'll let them get lucky.

Thoughtlessly dipping his finger to an open plastic bag of powder offered to him by one of the ladies, he rubs his teeth firmly, licking over his pearly-whites with a pop. “Thanks, toots!”

"Oi! Pay attention to the game!"

"Yeah, yeah! Hit me!"

Charlie is pulled close into a warm embrace, feeling herself draw into his honey-drop gaze and his calm smile. He picks up her hand delicately, and she’s impressed by the extent of his knowledge when he holds her hand out in a ballroom waltz, and the hand on his shoulder strongly cradled by his other arm. 

Similar to the way Husk taught her, just as he had to learn as a soldier against enemy forces, both in the physical and spiritual realm. 

All the more, she’s filled with questions. Is he a soldier? An old money heir? The second guess resurfaces some unpleasant memories, so she allows her mind to fade with the sway of his arms, her heart soaring to a place full of unspeakable joy.

“Enjoying yourself?”

"...More than I have in months, to be honest..." She's twisted out, then pulled back into him when she feels his hand rest just below her shoulder blades.

His expression quirks. “A darling as yourself having that many woebegone weeks in a row? Now that’s truly a terrible crime.”

"Nothing like that..." Charlie laughs, looking up when she realizes their proximity. Clearing her throat, she keeps her sight low to his bowtie. As long as she does not look into those enchanting eyes, she won’t allow herself to fall to scrupulous temptation. "I just have been so busy with work that I'm wound as tight as a tesla coil. I can't remember having this much fun except for...when I started volunteering at the orphanage these last two weeks."

“A singer, a dancer, engaging conversationalist, _and_ an almsgiver? Quite the repertoire.” Her breath hitches, when she feels his finger curl under her chin and force her sight to share plainly with his. “Anything else I’m missing?”

Unable to think, she closes her eyes, blocking out her senses to keep from stuttering. "...I'm not as interesting as all that. I just love children. Especially the ones who need the love of a parent. I relate to that.”

Though she does not see him, she feels him falter, and she opens her eyes again, only for him to stare right back with his smile. 

That mysterious smile that seems to carry so many secrets. 

“But why don't you tell me about yourself, Mr. D'Arcantel? I've taken the spotlight long enough."

He shakes his head, releasing her chin with a finger tracing her skin before replacing his hand to her back. “I like to be the listener once in a while. Plus, any gentleman worth his salt knows not to _Lens Louise_ a conversation with a lady without letting her get a word in.”

"You really _are_ a gentleman..." Before she can ask anymore, she looks up without any real reason, and that's when she sees it. "Um..." 

This time she stops moving, concerning Alastor when her expression hardens, scrutinizing the clock above the stage. 

"Is that clock a little fast?"

He looks up, then looks down to his wristwatch. Two quarters to midnight. “Don’t believe so. How time flies when having fun.”

 _Shit_.

Charlie immediately pulls away, face fraught with worry. "Oh, no... I have to get home." 

Knowing Vagatha and her overprotective nature, she might have come into her bedroom to check on her before going to bed herself. 

Only to find a pillow in place of the bed’s owner.

Even as she prays for a miracle, Charlie sighs, looking to him sadly. She takes in his smile, his smooth face and the warm shade of his light tan, down to the feel of his hands on her own. She wants to commit all of him to memory and keep it in a secret locket pressed in her heart. 

"I'm going to warn you now, Mr. D'Arcantel, but it’s very likely I may not see you again. It's tough to find the time off..."

Such gravity weighs her voice, he is put in a daze. He may have to work faster than before if their chances are so low in meeting again. It’s been far too long since he’s had the treat like this. 

Only a fool would allow such an opportunity to slip away.

He takes her hand again just before she can turn away. “After tonight, I’m afraid I can’t accept that, sweetheart.”

Her beautifully dark stare bulbs wide. 

“Meeting one miraculous night, then leaving it to chance of ever meeting again with such low possibility? Call me a skeptic, Miss Magne, but I’m not one to leave my chances to Lady Luck.”

With a gentle tug, she obediently returns under his gaze. He feels her tense when he shears the distance once more, noses only inches apart, until he brushes past her cheek. His lips stop inches from her ear, the shell of her ear tickled under the breath of his low whisper. 

“Would you be so kind as to exchange numbers with me? After all, I was promised a stroll in the park with an angel.” He grasps her hand, her palm pressing into his with a soft firmness as his thumb smooths over each pad of her fingers. “If it would please you, my dear?”

Charlie’s breath is held tight, overwhelmed with a giddiness. This is better than she could have hoped.

He wants to see her again. A mutual feeling she herself happily admits to with her desires to see him more just as eagerly. 

Worries of Vaggie and Husk melt away at his spellbinding tenor, her head bowing in shy surrender. "Do you have a pen?" 

He pulls away quickly, a new radiance in his grin.

Returning to the bar, she requests the bartender bring two napkins, taking the pen Alastor has on hand. She quickly writes down her digits, before a moment of boldness has her look up to him. She wants to give him something to remember her by.

 _A kiss on the cheek?_ _No, far too bold._

So, she considers something more subtle. Piquing at her own brilliance, Charlie places the napkin on her lips, adding sufficient pressure until she's certain. Pulling away, she nods, self-congratulatory when turning the napkin over to show a red kiss mark left near the number.

"Thank you for this lovely evening..."

Chuckles bubble through his lips when he takes the napkin, Alastor’s smile broadening at the sight. Lithe fingers trail over the inscribed digits to begin committing it to memory, but before he can write down his number in return, a shriek bombards their tranquility.

“ _Era tutto culo! Vaffanculo!!”_

 _“_ Oh, no!” After two weeks to become familiarized with the vulgar Italian, she knows immediately she is needed. Charlie turns back in a hurry, squeezing his hand for the last time.

“I hope we can see eachother again!” In a hurry, she turns and seeks out a possible situation she may need to diffuse.

With a parting laugh, he watches her retreat, musing her as a true likeness of the elusive Cinderella. He would certainly be ringing her up in the future.

She was far too much fun to only know for a single night.

* * *

Charlie weaves her way around the crowd, leaving a string of ‘sorry’s and ‘excuse me’s in her wake. Before long, she spots her tall companion at one of the back tables, cursing out a _broad_ for cheating. She feels her spirit recoil with each insult.

"Angel!! We have to go!"

“Awww now? I’m about to win the whole lot again!” It may have been Angel’s intent to say this discreetly, but was failing miserably. From the four empty glasses beside him, Charlie could hazard a guess why.

"That's wonderful, Angel..." she tries to whisper politely, her urgency trickling. "but we have to go now, or Vagatha will find out we've snuck out! She'll kill me!"

“Who’s…Vagginatha?”

" _Vaggie_ , Angel!!" Charlie hisses.

“ _Quella strafiga signorina_? That’s one _sexy_ piece of ass, I tell ya! Hot _damn_ , she gets me hard!”

Charlie has to swallow her disgust. "Oh no... How _jingle-brained_ are you?! It’s almost midnight! Vaggie’s going to be furious!"

“Oh…OH! Yeah, I was supposed to get you back hours ago!” he slurs out, sounding distressed, then on a dime sounding insulted. “And I’m _not_ drunk!! I only had…four _ee_! Is that three or four glasses here, they keep movin’.”

Charlie bites back a scream.

"Angel, come on!" she tugs on his arm frantically, looking to the other players apologetically. "She's going to kill me, and _maim_ you! She’ll never trust me with you again!"

“I don’t _want_ her to not trust me with you! We gotta go back!” In a fell swoop, he gathers his winnings and left the table, wobbling like buoy in the waves of a nasty storm.

“Wha–? Just put it all in here!" Oh she hopes her little purse can fit all of it because she is fresh without pockets! "I'm sorry, gentlemen! Have a good evening!"

Stuffing wads of cash into her bag, she gapes at the amount before he rushes off without her, and stops at a wall. 

“Where’s the door?! Where’s the fuckin’ door!! The door was right here!!” Angel yells at said wall.

…Five paces to the right of where the exit was. 

“Dammit! Shit! _Shit_! I don’t _wan’er_ to hate me!!”

Charlie exhales deeply, forcing herself to be the calm one when she attempts to click her bag closed. The man's so _zozzled_ he can't see the door is _five feet_ to his right. Successfully closing her purse, she gently takes him by the arm and pulls him. "This way, tiger... Come along." 

Charlie does find herself curious though. The way he spoke of Vaggie came across awfully panicked, even more so than her own concerns and far more than she’d ever wager him feeling in regards to her guardian.

She shouldn't assume...but still, she'll have to keep an eye open. Leading him to the door, she guides his hand, much like she is guiding an infant until he touches the handle. "Straight... and _push_!"

“The door appeared!!” Angel whoops. “We gotta _blouse_! Which way’s your place again? I didn’t forget, the room just keeps spinnin’. Can you make it stop?”

 _This is unbelievable!_ she cringes, wanting to kick herself for her carelessness. _If I’d known he was going to get himself drunk, I wouldn’t have agreed to this in the first place!_

And then she would not have met Mr. D’Arcantel.

She shakes her head, putting his arm around her shoulder. 

“Just come on–”

“‘Ey! Where you two think you’re goin’!?”

A cold slash of ice trails down her back. Praying the man behind them is perhaps speaking to someone else near them, when she turns, the familiar dread of confrontation drips into her stomach. Venomous stares from the table pierce into her chest, and instinctively, she pulls Angel closer to her side.

She already doesn’t like where this is going. “We’re just leaving! We don’t want any trouble–”

“Shoulda thought of that before trying to _dust out_ with winnings that ain’t yours!” A gaunt gambler growls from the other end of the table, dark shadows under his eyes as a trail of smoke exits through broken teeth. “Cough up what ya owe, and that’ll be the end of it.”

Exasperated, she tosses an accusatory glance over to her wavering companion. “Angel–”

“I don’ owe ya jack shit, _bo_! Now get outta my face unless you want things to get ugly. And you don’t got much left to lose there with your _mug_!”

“Wanna say that again, _wop_?”

“Ouch! Ooooh! Such an insult!” Angel taunts. “Is that the best you can do? Spare yourself the embarrassment unless you actually got something creative to call me, you sack of poorly-packaged horseshit! _Vai a farti fottere_ , _sfigati_! _Go chase yourselves_ and cry to your mamas about it!”

“You think this is a joke?”

“No no no _no_ , babe. Jokes are funny! I’m calling you sad! And pathetic! Like your _dicks_.”

Charlie could cry on the spot in her frustration, especially when four larger men begin to stand up, knuckles cracking under their fists. _Angel, please, I’m begging you! Shut up!_

“HA!” Angel jeer. “You dumbfucks are pathetic at this! You think your sorry little posturing display’s gonna scare me? Actin’ like you’re _made men_ ? Try again, ya clowns! I’ve seen the real deal, and you ain’t it. You ain’t packing in _any_ department!”

“Wait, no! Stop!!” Charlie interjects, seeing how the four of them, and one angry looking woman begin to line up. “If it’s the money you want, I’ll give you all of it! Just let us go!”

Angel jostles them both. “Like _hell_ you are! I earned every bit of that _kale_ , you fuckin’ _broad!”_

Charlie can’t bring herself to even be angry at Angel anymore, so used to his antics as she’s become at this point. Looking over each person surrounding them, she remembers Husk telling her if there’s ever a time she can diffuse the situation, _do it._

“We don’t have a choice if we want to get out of here without issue.” Holding firmly to his arm over her shoulder, she tries to open her purse with a single hand, unaware of the woman giving her a once-over. The daggers in her eyes could cut her throat clean open.

“Yer the little _quiff_ who stole Mister A from the rest of us!”

“Huh?!” Looking up, she recoils at the angry finger pointing her way.

 _I did_ **_what!?_ **

“Get the money, but I want her head! I’ll pluck every little piece of hair out of your skull and claw off your pretty face!”

Just when she actually had a nice time. “Are you being _serious_ right now?!”

When the woman marches up to her, she raises a hand, palm wide open for an open-handed slap. Charlie bites her teeth, clinging tightly to Angel when she expects the sting.

“Ah!? H-Hey! Let go, you son of a– _Mister A!?”_

Hearing that name, Charlie opens her eyes wide, astonished to see the hook of a black umbrella wrapped around the wrist of the enraged _flapper._ The _moxie_ she held only moments ago seems to have melted into cowardice, for there towers Alastor with a tight smile, his hand pulling back on his instrument to force the woman back from the pair.

“Now, now. There’s no need for that. We don’t want to make a scene in this fine joint over a petty squabble, do we?” Alastor chides. “Nothing worth getting tossed out and banned from the establishment over, no?”

He’s not rough, but nevertheless, she’s pulled behind him when he expertly releases her with the twist of his wrist without looking back, striding confidently with one hand behind his back when he comes between Charlie and the angry players. He shares a quick glance with her, tipping his hat wordlessly.

Seeing Alastor appear in the midst of this little misunderstanding, Charlie is too quick to shake her head with pleading eyes, silently begging him not to involve himself. 

Paying her unspoken pleas no heed, he faces the opponents, twisting his umbrella before stamping it to the floor.

“‘Ey, _creep!_ Get lost! This is between the bitch, wop, and us!”

“Well now, that's not very sporting of you.” Alastor tsks. “This _splifficated_ fellow can barely walk straight and your rowdy behavior is distressing his darling companion.”

The group glares hard, the tallest — and _ugliest_ — member giving the intervener a jagged scowl. “Ya want t’ join to party? We’ll gut you open along with them if ya don’t fuckin’ _beat it!”_

“Mr. D’Arcantel…” Charlie whispers low enough for him to hear, shaking her head. “It’s alright.”

Truly, she wants him to be safe. Four large men, and a scorned woman against one man? He’ll be overpowered in seconds.

“I have to disagree with you on that, _chère_. I’m afraid I was taught better than to allow such ill-mannered _heels_ to disrespect a lady.”

“Ya want t’ be a hero, Twinkle Toes?” The biggest one steps forward, cracking his ringed fingers as he lifts his fists.

“Do you want to make a bigger fool of yourself in public over a lost bet, Mr. _Fish_?”

“No!!” Charlie cries out when the _goon_ winds his fist back to strike him for the insult. After years of sparring, Charlie can see his fist flying with the slowness of time. Even so, she’s bound to Angel’s safety and can do nothing to stop the right hook rearing to connect with Alastor’s cheek.

Alastor’s smile doesn’t so much as flinch.

A flick of his wrist catches the ringleader’s _haymaker_ with surprising speed. Faster than a whip crack, he bends over the _goon_ single-handedly, the larger man crying out from the sudden sharp hold and rough twisting that follows until he’s forced to fall to his knees, quaking the walls with a thunderous shake.

The rest back away with a unified gasp, even Charlie stumbling in her shock as the man writhes and whines. Alastor never so much as bats an eye. Almost boredly, he fishes into the _bruno_ ’s sleeve with his other hand.

“Oh would you look at that!" He places down the umbrella to slip his fingers into the sleeve. "Got an ace up your sleeve, do you? Or _two? Three? Four?_ ” he lists off, revealing each card one by one. “Surely that’s got nothing to do with your accusations towards these two over your game? How _you_ were the one _cheated_ out of your _cut_?”

Charlie couldn’t believe what she just experienced, even more astonishing when a familiar sense of _dèjá vu_ has her stare widely at Alastor with growing admiration. Instantly, she remembers the day she met Husk, and how their first encounter had been so similar. Down to the cards her savior toys with between his fingers.

“It would appear that this farce of a _tracasserie_ has resolved itself, don’t you think? _Now_.”

It is in a single twist Alastor is rewarded with another yelp from the massive _rube_ he conquered down to his knees, leveling a hard stare towards the now unnerved _troubleboys._ With his back to Charlie, only they are privy to the darkness in his gaze.

The cronies stand pinned under his glare, Alastor never once paying mind to the angle he keeps bending their companion’s wrist. “You and your little entourage are going to leave these two be with no further trouble tonight. Is that understood?”

“Damn, _sheik_ …” Angel mutters, slowly putting all of his weight on Charlie’s side.

Following a long moment of tension, the players finally begin to back away, teeth bared yet in their eyes, a shiver of death falls across them like an iron blanket. Alastor is as big as a beanpole, almost laughably smaller in stature compared to the _baby grand_ at his mercy, yet none of his associates even attempt to run him down.

It was like looking into an abyss, surrounded by a warped bastion. Their hearts quake, their breaths are trapped inside their lungs.

“L-Loud and clear, _pal._ L-Let him go and w-we’ll be out of your way!”

“For your sake, I hope you do.”

On his feet, he drops the hold on the man’s wrists, and the woman, speeding over with the shuffle of her heels, takes him by the arm and pulls him to his feet. One by one, they leave the scene, walking by Charlie and Angel until the last one disappears behind the door, not once looking back.

With a twist of his foot, Alastor then faces the damsel in question, utterly shocked in her place even as her companion begins to stumble. Before her heels could fail her, Alastor rushes to the Italian’s open side, pulling his arm around his shoulder before Charlie could tell him there is no need.

He raises Angel higher, until he’s completely shouldered his weight onto himself, leaving Charlie now standing agape with one of Angel’s dangling arms over her neck.

“Well! That was interesting!” clucks the showman, not a hint of strain in his voice. “Are the two of you quite alright?”

“Mr. D’Arcantel…” A breathless laugh escapes. “Yes, _I’m_ fine. I’m not so sure about him…” Concerned, she pushes Angel’s hair out of his face. He’s sweating profusely, and his eyes look past her, even when she’s directly under his nose. “Oh! I _knew_ I shouldn’t have left him alone!”

“I’m hard.” Angel blurts out.

Charlie is too astounded to even answer Angel’s drunken vulgarity. Even Alastor’s eyes widen a bit, a wrinkle to his nose in disgust. Charlie sighs, pinching her nose for a moment before turning to her rescuer, deeply grateful. 

“That– That was amazing. Thank you...”

“Well, I couldn’t just leave you to be attacked over a petty game, now could I?” he brushes off, giving her a wink. “But I think we best call a cab. I think he’s worse off than you believe.”

Charlie nods. “I know I must have already burdened you enough, but could you hold onto him until I can get his coat on.”

Alastor shakes his head. “Darling, you are anything but a burden. I haven’t had this much fun in years! I’ll be right here.”

“You’re a guardian angel, Mr. D’Arcantel!”

She turns, stooping over to pick up his umbrella before rushing to the window where Angel dropped off their winter wear, completely unaware of the rueful smirk given at Charlie’s retreat.

_That’s a new one._

They walk with Angel to the sidewalk outside of the restaurant, Alastor dressed in a red scarf and long black coat as Charlie stuffs her golden curls into her white cloche hat, her coat of white cashmere warding off the snow. The concierge was kind enough to call for a cab beforehand at Alastor’s request, for at the entrance is parked a yellow taxi car. 

Gingerly placing the _ossified_ Italian onto the seat, Alastor holds the door open for Charlie to enter, but she hesitates, turning to him.

"Here. You're going to need this. The snow should go on for another couple of days." He looks down, seeing her offer his trusty umbrella. Contemplatively, he takes it back with a nod.

"Thank you, sweetheart..."

“Mr. D’Arcantel, I… um…” with big, gentle eyes, she looks up, face filled with a parting sorrow.

The man smiles at the way she bites her lips, fumbling for the words. He puts a stop to her ramblings, a gloved thumb placed over her lips while his fingers cradle under her chin. Her impossibly large lashes flutter with a gasp, face full of unspoken questions.

“Fret not, sweetheart.” Alastor lowers his face to her level again, warming her ear from the cold wind when he whispers a promise. “We’ll see eachother again. And I’m nothing if not a man of my word.”

Tucking her hair behind her ear, he leaves her with a trace of his finger upon her skin, removing his hand as he chuckles at the new color of pink now overtaking her whole face.

She finally shakes herself free of the spell, stammering. “I- I hope so!”

“I know so.” He takes her hand, kissing her knuckles. “ _À la prochaine_. Pleasant dreams, Miss Magne.”

She laughs warmly, looking up from her seat. The way her name sounds against his lips feels like a dream. “Goodnight… Mr. D’Arcantel.”

Alas, it’s only after he closes the door and the cab is already far from sight that he realizes his folly. Their number exchange was only _half_ -completed.

He sees Charlie look back through the car window, her smile a gleam of spring when she waves. Alastor returns the gesture, shaking his head at himself when he knocks the ground with the umbrella's base.

_Well, this is a bit of a predicament…but where’s the fun when the hunt is easy?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Omake: 
> 
> “Where do you like to perform?”
> 
> With you, her mind supplied mid-sip.
> 
> Charlie then proceeded to choke on her wine.
> 
> __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
> 
> We've been excited to get to this chapter ever since starting this fic! And the outcome is better than we could have hoped! I hope Alastor's entrance was worth the wait, and soon be expecting some blossoming romance for our SpiderMoth lovers as well! How very becoming this is coming out before Christmas!  
> Well, everyone, Merry Christmas, and please, hold your loved ones!
> 
> For those of you who want to take part as patrons for Celestine's illustrations, as well as other comics, you can find one of the illustrations here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/45045772
> 
> Wifeofthesoulless and FurorNocturna signing off!
> 
> Glossary
> 
> ethel - an effeminate man  
> broad, dame, doll, bim, babydoll, Jane - a woman  
> cat, fella - a man  
> cheaters- glasses  
> swell - good  
> bunny - someone (usually a girl) who seems lost, confused  
> applesauce - used as an expletive, “drat!”  
> choice bit of calico - attractive woman  
> sockdollager - something or someone outstanding or exceptional  
> moonshine - bootleg alcohol  
> Oliver Twist - a superb dancer  
> sheik - an attractive man, a man with sex appeal  
> sheep’s eye - a lovesick stare  
> Dumb Dora - a stupid woman  
> alarm clock - chaperon  
> kale, mazuma - money  
> quilt - alcohol, particularly one to warm you up  
> Mud City Beautiful - portmanteau of “Mud City” and “City Beautiful”; both nicknames for the city of Chicago  
> Blind Pigs, speakeasies, juice joint - secret bar  
> live wire - an energetic person  
> bite the big one - die  
> step out - informal; go out with, date  
> Lens Louise - a person who steamrolls the conversation  
> blouse, dust out - to leave  
> big timer - a charming and romantic man  
> bo - pal, man, buddy  
> mug - face; can also refer to a person (usually a dumb one)  
> wop - derogatory term for an Italian  
> made men - mafia members  
> flapper - term for the ‘modern woman’ in the 1920s  
> moxie - gumption  
> quiff - slut  
> heel - a person who treats other people badly and unfairly; a jerk, asshole  
> bruno - an enforcer; gangster tough guy  
> rube - a rude man, can also mean ‘hick’  
> troubleboys - gangsters  
> baby grand - a large, heavily built man  
> jingle-brained, splifficated, ossified, zozzled - drunk  
> fish - slang for a losing gambler  
> haymaker - punch  
> goon - lackey  
> Go chase yourself - get lost, scram
> 
> Marilyn Miller - a popular Broadway musical star of the 1920s and early 1930s; an accomplished singer, tap dancer and actress, known for playing rags-to-riches Cinderella characters who live happily ever after
> 
> Translations
> 
> In bocca al lupo - Italian idiom; lit. “into the wolf’s mouth”, but used as the equivalent of the English “break a leg” in wishing someone good luck  
> bambolina - Italian endearment; “little doll”  
> Era tutto culo - It was all luck  
> Vaffanculo - vulgar Italian; fuck off  
> Quella strafiga signorina - That smoking hot lady  
> Vai a farti fottere, sfigati! - vulgar; Go and get fucked, losers!
> 
> chère, chèrie - dear, darling  
> J’adore! Chapeau bas! - Congratulations! Hat’s off!  
> Bonté moi - Goodness me  
> tracasserie - petty quarrel  
> À la prochaine - Until next time


	8. Doll House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sweet joys of of childhood,
> 
> How briefly you reside!
> 
> You’re an angel’s kiss,
> 
> That I should have abide!
> 
> Rest upon me in lofty dream
> 
> So that I may know once more,
> 
> Innocence before blood stained my seam.

**Ephesians 4:22 NIV** You were taught, with regard to your former way of life, to put off your old self, which is being corrupted by its deceitful desires...

* * *

The snow never let up, and Charlie could hardly make out their streets. So much for the weather ‘warming up for spring’. She forgot how relentless Chicago Winters can be, sometimes as petulant as a child who doesn’t want to put down her favorite toy to pass it along for another child to play with.

She chuckles at her analogy, but her searching pays off when she recognizes one of the houses. It’s just a few blocks away, and she doesn’t want to risk either Husk or Vaggie seeing the bright colored taxi cab right out the front door. The taxi driver parks at her request as she passes along some of Angel’s winnings.

Now, the tricky part: walking an _extremely splifficated_ Angel into the house without getting caught.

She groans, her prayers unanswered for Angel’s coherence to return, for his babbling confirms he is still under the possession of all those Bees Knees nor can walk in a straight line. Charlie shakes her head, once more chiding herself for allowing him to talk her into tonight.

Yet just as much, her mind pines for the company of Mr. D’Arcantel. Something which never would have transpired had she decided to go through with asking Vaggie.

Charlie nearly stumbles again in her daydreaming when Angel’s weight puts her off-balance, and forcing her attention back to the current task. The draft entering her skirt sends a chill throughout her body. She might have to make use of the fireplace before she rests Angel down.

"Come on...one foot in front of the other." Charlie guides, patiently slow even as the winds nip at her ankles.

“One foot, one foot, one… _uh oh_. Mayday, toots! That last cocktail’s coming back with interest!”

Before Charlie could ask the meaning of the outburst, Angel pushes her aside.

"Hey! Angel!" She gives chase as he teeters towards a nearby bush of some poor soul’s front yard, leaning over with a hand over his mouth. As soon as she touches his shoulder, he bends over.

A retch rips through his throat! A wet splash sounds in Charlie's ears as he proceeds to upchuck everything he had at the bar, leaving her to watch helplessly from behind.

"Eww..." she tepidly pats his back, equally as compassionate as she is disgusted.

To make matters worse, her conscience scathes her.

All of this is her fault! She _should_ have kept an eye on him! Angel’s drunk, and all because she didn’t stick by his side. Instead, she occupied herself with her own indulgence while he engaged in his vices without anyone to curb his intake.

 _Lord, please forgive me…_ she huffs to herself, rubbing the back of his hunched figure.

Soon enough, Angel rears back, wiping a hand over his lips. He looks terrible, with dark circles under his eyes and his face gaunt and pale.

Regarding him carefully, Charlie lightly brushes his fringe from his face. "Ummm....any more?"

“Nah…think we’re _Jake_ , thank fuck,” he musters, taking her hand from his face, giving it a reassuring squeeze before dropping it. Thankfully, he sounds a tad more sober after that. “Yeah, memo to me, memo to me…don’t take dust with drinks. Tomorrow me’s gonna hate me in the morning.”

"‘Dust’?" she scrutinizes him, once more puzzled by his word usage. “Is that a drink?”

“Naw, it’s a–” Angel stops himself, a guilty glance shared with her. “Actually, don’t worry about it. Ain’t that important. Something to spice things up with the drinks.”

Nevertheless, she narrows her eyes, full of suspicion. He leans back, hoping, _praying_ even, she doesn’t connect the dots. The stress begins to make him sway again, an out of body experience unable to pause when the world moves off-kilter.

_Oh, man…_

“Angel, you promised me you would– Oh, whoa! Angel!!!" Her voice is a muffle of sound, like she was speaking underwater, words bubbling until they ring clear above the surface.

_Shit… that stuff was stronger than the broad let on..._

He falls over her, forcing her to cease her building scold to catch him before he could faceplant to the pavement. Tears burn in the back of her eyelids, her frustration peaked. "Angel!! Vaggie's not just going to kill me! She's going to throw us _both_ in a convent!!"

And she wouldn't blame her!

Angel suddenly stiffens in her arms. “…She won’t really do that! She can’t! I-I-I know I’ve been a lil’ more than a rowdy _dewdropper_ and I fucked up big time, but she wouldn’t really do something so cruel, would she?!”

Breaths quicken in her ear, arms bracing Charlie with frantic eyes. “Y-You can’t let her!! I can’t do that again!!”

She steadies him, alarmed. "Whoa whoa whoa whoa!! Angel!!" Good heavens, it's like she's holding a completely different person. "Ok, hey, calm down. Let's sit, ok."

She succeeds in guiding him to a bench, snow cushioning their descent as crystals alight under a lamplight before she could pull him into a small embrace. He’s shaking uncontrollably, and she’s unsure whether it’s from the cold or from whatever reaction he’s experiencing. She coos in his ear, dragging her nails through his tangles. Anything she can to calm him down.

_Thank God the winds decided to die down…_

The snowfall now lighter, she watches his breath tote like a train engine speeding across the railway. She can even feel his chest beat against hers, hard and fast.

"It's alright, Angel. She won't _really_ do that..." _Why is he so scared?_ _Is this all due to the drinks? Husk never acts like this!_ "Angel, are you ok?"

Angel doesn’t answer, his breaths shuttering as his arms wind tighter around her. They sit quietly for some time, neither speaking as they await one or the other to move or even speak.

“…You hunt demons, right?” The Italian responds at last.

 _What on earth?_ “...Yes?”

“Well, let’s just say you, Mr. Grumpy, and his mystery contacts missed a few spots in New York.”

She doesn't let him go, but her hand stops petting his hair, listening intently to the tremble in his voice.

“...My old man? He’s a real piece a shit. And don’t gimme any preachy bullshit about ‘honor thy father and mother’! If that bull applies when the parents beat their own kids, or send them off to be ‘cured’ just for bein’ themselves, then that Man Upstairs is a fucking _sadist_ …” he rambles, the bite in his words juxtaposed by the hitch in his voice.

“Don’t say that…” Charlie chides softly, feeling the instinctual tension when he speaks so meanly about God. She holds him tighter, once he tensed in her arms, but she continues to brush through his hair, adjusting him until his cheek rests on her shoulder.

Soon enough, he relaxes in her arms. “Sorry…”

She's still so new to this, so unsure of where the lines lie, but if she was taught anything, it's that she needs to go with her gut, or the 'Holy Spirit', as the Nuns called it. And right now, her gut tells her to stay silent and hear him out.

"I won't say anything else, alright. Just talk to me..." Charlie keeps brushing his hair.

There is a long pause before he continues with a heavy spirit. “I just like dressing up and living _la dulce vita_. Why is being who I am so wrong? Why am I wrong for that? I just wanna be me and have fun. I don’t…don’t mean t’ hurt no one.”

She keeps detangling his knots, not knowing what to say. Charlie recalls a past teaching from the Abbess where if she doesn’t have the words, that too is another sign to simply keep silent and listen. All the same, she wishes greatly to give him the comfort he seeks. So she tightens her hold on him, shushing when he begins to sniffle. "I'm here..."

“You remind me of my sistah, you know.”

Lashes flutter in surprise, turning over to see his face. Her heart clamps, for what hangs on Angel’s false lashes is not melted snow, but the sheen of his tears.

 _“_ Angel… _”_

“...Molly. That’s her name. The reason I call myself Angel… It’s because of her. She called me her guardian angel when I saved her from some sick fucks who tried to force her to come with them in an alleyway.” He scoffs. “Funny, since that’s the way I would end up meeting you… Yer way too sweet, _bambolina,_ but ya still put up yer dukes to help me. A sick bastard like me, and all I’ve done is treat you like shit...”

“It’s alright…”

“It ain’t, toots. When you’re surrounded by sick bastards for most of your life, you forget that good people exist too. Molly is one of ’em. It’s thanks to her I got through most nights and eventually dipped town…”

The tears in her eyes at their parting still stabs him like an ice pick speared in his chest. Begging him to leave when she forced a jewelry box full of savings in his hands. He can’t remember a time when he bawled like he did on the train to Chicago.

He felt so lost, so alone without her there to guide him.

_Has it really been two years?_

Even now, he still feels lost without her. “You two would get along swell, if you ever meet,” he comments ruefully. “…why am I telling you all this? Ugh. There I go runnin’ my mouth again and making a bigger mess a’ things. Like always…”

"No... No, I'm happy you're telling me.” Charlie tries to push him up, pulling her sleeve around her hand to wipe away the tears building in his eyes. He doesn’t resist when she dries his face.

In fact, it feels kind of nice.

“I would love to meet Molly one day. She sounds wonderful."

The back of her mind continues to nag her to return home as soon as possible, but Angel opening up? Trusting her? Yes, sneaking out had been wrong, but her concern over Vaggie’s reaction pales to giving Angel the support he so clearly hasn’t had in a very long time.

His well-being takes priority right now.

She tilts his chin to dry his other eye, doing her best not to displace his false lashes. "We'll stay as long as you need to before we get moving, ok..."

Angel eventually shakes off her sleeve, but not unkindly. “Nah, I’ve held us up long enough. Not safe to be out here this late and we _really_ oughta get back sooner rather than later,” Angel sighs, standing back up. “Think I sobered up enough to carry my own ass there myself so you’re not stuck lugging my dead weight.”

"Are you sure...?" She instinctively grabs his wrist between her hands, ready to steady him if he loses balance.

The moment he stands up, a disorienting bout of vertigo spins the winter wonderland around him. “...May need ya to hold on to keep me steady, but my _gams_ appear to be working again. For the most part.”

"Deal." She stands beside him, holding his arm to stabilize him.

A new silence descends between them, but without Charlie’s nagging conscience, and Angel’s buzzing drunkenness. While he’s more than sure tomorrow’s hangover will be the nasty payoff, the current quiet is actually comfortable.

Weightless.

Charlie still didn’t feel sure she was any help, but she'd like to think this was another step to their growing friendship. She softly squeezes his bicep, happily sharing a smile. "Thank you... for telling me."

“Aight, that’s enough wishy-washy sappiness for one night, but no problem or whatever.” he mumbles with a wave of his hand, his tone coy.

_Aaand he’s back._

She giggles, before placing her head to his shoulder. "Yeah..."

Only when he begins to stumble again does she return his arm around her neck, despite his annoyed grumbles. Charlie shoulders it with relatively little issue, impressed by her own mobility to keep Angel from falling over.

As they resume their trek home, her mind drifts. Bouncing between multiple thoughts and feelings. Angel’s performance and her wonder of his voice, worrying doubts they’ll make a _clean sneak_ home…a dreamy fondness for a handsome stranger who made tonight oh so very special.

“Soooooo,” he begins, as they start ankling home. “How was ya blind date with Smiles?”

Immediately, Charlie jolts, her eyes guiltily wide. _Can he read minds!?_

The familiar heat fills her face. Turning away, her next words are low and fumbling. "It wasn't a _date_. We just talked."

A smug smirk lowers itself to Charlie’s pink ear. “Sure, sure. But ya still got the strawberry _sheik_ stuck on ya mind, don’tcha?”

“No!" she denies, louder than necessary when her voice carries with the wind. 

Angel bores down harder at the _dame’s_ wayward gaze, unconvinced. Within three steps, Charlie sighs sharply, rolling her eyes.

A new softness fills her face, Mr. D'Arcantel’s smile invading her mind again like an infectious song. An inescapable, enchanting showtune like her beloved ‘Blue Danube Blues’.

With a huff, Charlie admits defeat. "…Yes.”

"I knew it!" Angel dances with a slight sing-song slur to his speech. "Man, ya shoulda seen yer cute lil’ _button_. I knew something was goin' on between the two o' yas!“

He saw the sparks the instant the mystery fella walked on stage. And when they performed together?

Well…he’d have to be an idiot not to see that there was magic there.

“Shut up…" she chastises with a giggle, nudging him. Her smile falls, however.

Despite Mr. D’Arcantel’s promise, despite him having her number, despite the absolutely magical night, the enjoyable conversation of his birthplace and his alluring gaze…

Despite everything, she truly believes there is no true chance of ever seeing him again. Not that she doubts he meant his promise, but the crucial truth is what dashes her hopes, crushes her dreams into dust.

She’s the spawn of the literal Devil himself.

"It’s not like I’ll be doing anything more than _carrying a torch_.”

"And what makes ya say that?" he frown. There was no way she didn't see the chemistry going on between the two of them. She _had_ to be yanking his chain here; and with that thought comes a horrified shout. _“_ Don’t tell me after that gracious favor of mine, you didn’t get that _Joe Brooks’s_ number! _"_

“He’s way out of my league..." Charlie whispers, unperturbed by his anger. She looks to the stars above, searching them for some reprieve from the heaviness on her chest, "and clearly already has it made for himself."

Meanwhile, she herself doesn't know who she is, and the worst of her personal struggle has only grown deeper ever since she learned of her mother and her destiny. "I’m a _Dumb Dora_ who doesn’t have a smidgen of her life together and would only drag someone down...”

_“Demon hunters don’t get to have the picket fence family life.”_

Husk held such a hard look in his eyes, guzzling down a tin cup of water from their recent bout. She stopped salving her wounds, a rock plummeting into her stomach when he spoke. Like any other girl, she dreams of love. Yearns for it. That day, Husk made it perfectly clear her Mark did more than simply remove any chances of her having a normal life.

It would also remove her chance of ever marrying. Of being held. Of ever having children of her own.

_“They just can’t. Many have tried, but…it never works. Spare yourself the heartbreak and don’t bother.”_

When he said that, she recalled a distant look in his eyes. A hardened sorrow. It made her wonder if he had tried, and ultimately failed.

Angel stands to his full height, pulling his arm from around her neck to block her path. Were he anyone else, she would have thought he was going to rob her.

“ _Horsefeathers_!!” Angel fires at her snippily, his accent growing more prominent as he went off in tandem with his finger jabbing into her chest. "Sistah, lemme tell ya somethin'! When ya get a chance to snag a fine piece of ass like _that_ , ya need to jump at the chance! I ain't sayin' it'll make fer a permanent solution, but that ain't someone ya can run into day after day! That there's a _sheik_ of the highest quality! A _Real McCoy_ celebrity and one who looked at you like you wore the cosmos in yer eyes!”

Charlie reels back, but no further when he snatches her shoulders, shaking her once as though it’ll jostle some common sense back into her head.

“Ya really wanna skimp the chance to get yerself a man that can sweep ya off yer feet like that guy did with ya on stage?!"

She fights the urge to plug her nose, Angel’s breath still reeking of bile.

“And I saw the way ya looked at ‘im! _Bambolina,_ I woulda thought y’ would ‘ave _stepped out_ with him!”

“That would have been inappropriate…”

“So, ya don’t deny it!!”

“I wasn’t going to leave you in this state!”

“Ya should ‘ave left me to rot in a cold ditch! Ya should be _necking_ him right now!”

Charlie grabs Angel by the shoulders and turns him around before he could see her blush, half-heartedly pushing him toward the house’s direction. "Oh, _baloney_! And no, I wouldn’t ditch you even if I did want to do that!”

“So you _do_ admit you wanna _French_ that fine fucker, eh?”

“You’re _zozzled_ and making fun!”

“I may be tipsy still, but I _know my_ potate– _my onions_ here!”

"You can prove it to me once we're home!"

A new throb tightens in her chest, her traitorous thoughts pushing aside Husk’s warning.

Try as she might, she can’t shake away the wishes, nor the wonder she’s left with. What would have happened if she had decided to walk in the cold night, walking on the bridge of the Ho-o-den Pavilion? Would it have been as magical as when he sang to her? Danced with her?

“Speaking of, are we there yet?” he yawns.

“Just one more block.” True to her word, her house appears in the short distance.

“And do you know how we’re sneakin’ back in?”

“...We _might_ have to go through my window.”

“How high up is it? Can I just boost you up, or do we need to scale the gutters or some shit?”

“Well, maybe you can lift me to the roof and I can pull you up. The guest room is on the second floor, so we’ll both be scotfree if we can pull this off without being spotted.”

_Or so I hope…_

“Give me a boost...”

“Up ya go!”

They stand right below the roof, a ledge just beyond Charlie’s reach until Angel’s height completes the distance between her hand and gutter. Dusting aside a slab of snow, she creates a platform for herself to crawl unto, turning around to reach out to Angel.

“Ok. Ok, now give me your hand...”

He hooks over her wrist, bending his knees to propel himself up. Yet before he could extend his legs, he’s hoisted up with such fluid ease, he is already lying beside Charlie, her smile without strain.

 _How did she…?_ “You... are deceptively stronger than you look.” Angel wheedles out with a scratch to his cheek.

“Heh.... I suppose that training paid off.” Charlie scoots around, pushing aside the snow to reach her window, her gloved hands curling under the wooden frame. The room is dark, and her bed looks unperturbed.

_Hm. Maybe she didn’t suspect._

With a few shakes of the frozen wood, it finally budges with soft urging. Charlie releases a long breath, now more than certain they are safe from detection.

“Looks like we’re–”

A hard grip snaps around her wrist.

She gasps, pulling back at the sudden vice, her voice screeching into the wind. **“AAAAAAAAAAGH!!”**

Looking into her bedroom window, there stands Vagatha. Mad as Hades.

Her guardian glares dangerously between them. That look is a spear of ice in her chest, colder than the displaced, Chicago winter abating the springtime’s entrance.

Vaggie says nothing as she steps aside from the window, jerks her jaw at the pair to get inside. As the two crawl their way through the window, Charlie at least has the decency to look guilty for their error.

Angel merely rolls his mismatched gaze.

“What?” His hands shrug skyward, exaggerated expression wrinkling his nose. Charlie’s jaw drops at the sheer audacity.

Vaggie all but tore out her hair in her eruption, her voice peaking to a glass-breaking pitch. “‘What’? _‘WHAT’?!_ What were you _doing_!?”

“I was treating my girl buddy here to a night out! Isn’t that a ‘redeeming quality’? Doing nice things for your friends?” Angel counters snarkily.

"NOT if it's sneaking out to hell knows where at night without telling me!!"

“Vaggie, please! Just listen–!”

“ _Why the FUCK are all of you yelling at 12 in the damn morning!?_ ”

Charlie’s blood runs cold at Husk’s irritable yell and emergence in her bedroom doorway. The bags under her mentor’s tired eyes serve to accentuate his own displeasure as he takes in the scene.

Looking between the pair, Charlie dreads the way he takes in her nice coat and cloche hat, with her red, sparkling dress peeking from below the fur coat, and black silk shoes now coated in snow. Then he looks to Angel, already narrowing his stare into daggers when he looks over his unfocused stare, plum suit and scuffed wingtips.

Muscles ripple when Husk crosses his arms, his scowl deepening. “This ought to be _good._ ”

The young orphan knows once and for all the _jig_ is up.

They were caught.

And come morning, there would be Hell to pay.

* * *

Angel nurses his headache to a glass of Alka Seltzer water, drinking in gulps with two pieces of plain toast sitting next to his elbow on the kitchen table.

There’s a cacophony of war drums beating between his ears, any light too sharp for his over-stimulated optics. The rolling in his stomach reminds him of the times he’s had to ride over the East River, the waves making him uneasy in its movement. Even as the glass empties into his dry mouth, burns its presence through his throat, and settles his stomach with minimal results, the real reason his gut rolls is not so simple.

It’s not from the dash of _dust_ — the same pinch of _dope_ that was more potent than the _green-eyed_ _Jane_ promised. His memory clear now, he regrets not _whacking_ her for daring to pull that shit on Charlie! He ever sees that bitch again, he’ll show her the cost of messing with a _pal_ of an _Accardi_ –!

Back on track.

Now, the _real_ reason the Italian’s restlessness is not to the dust, nor the booze. In fact, it’s a _woman._ A woman whose anger challenges the Wrath of God Himself. The same _Jane_ he loved _razzing_ at every opportunity. Getting her more wound up than a toy soldier. Only this time, what’s radiating across the kitchen and cleaning the dishes with a vengeance is not simply a _lathered pachuca_.

Oh, no, no, no… This lady’s ready to sell him to the _bulls_ on the next train to the _can._

She said so herself last night!

After listening to the disparaging speech Vaggie gave to them well into the night, Angel was surprised within himself to find a sliver of conscience left to notice Charlie’s dejection throughout the entire lecture. Her face is red with embarrassment, eyes shining with unshed tears, and her painted lips were drawn so low, it provoked Angel to speak in her stead.

He tried to, anyways.

Angel felt the strong grip of her hand on his. When he looked down at her face, she only shook her head, once more pleading with him without sound. As much as he wanted to speak up, seeing her like that made him think for a very long time.

Maybe, his words would only serve to further inflame their ruin.

So, he said nothing. Up to breakfast time, he has said absolutely nothing.

Charlie wasn’t in her room by the time he woke up, and the old _baby grand_ isn’t home either.

_Probably getting punished in her ‘training’ or whatever._

Once again, reminded the fault is entirely his, he presses between his eyes, willing his headache away.

He’s left completely alone with bitchy _bearcat._ Two weeks ago, he would have celebrated at the chance, but now, it’s like he’s in the same room with a panther inches from biting his throat out.

Regardless of how much he appreciates his own life, he needs to make this right. For Blondie’s sake.

 _Ugh, I actually got a conscience again._ “So... um.” His finger lines the empty glass. “What training thing she doing right now?” Angel asks awkwardly.

Vaggie doesn't answer, only roughly washing the skillet of charred eggs. Her back is to Angel, pointedly ignoring him as she suds the sponge again.

 _Damn, ice queen._ “Is she at least, uh, holding up okay?” he tries again.

She snorts, putting the dish aside to pick up another. “She's _fine_." 

Angel huffs. “What? Am I not allowed to ask?”

Vaggie pumps the sponge again before continuing. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm still cross with you."

“ _Santo cielo, donna!_ What do you think I’m trying to do here? Dig my grave deeper?!”

The nurse levels a hard look at him, one he returns without fear.

_He’s got some cojones! Urgh!_

"You snuck out with her without _my_ permission.” she accuses, throwing down her rag. “I'm her _guardian_ . I'm the one responsible for her safety! So, just imagine what it was like for me to go into her room, only to find it _empty_ and yours as well! You couldn't _imagine_ what that was like for me! I thought you had _kidnapped_ her!"

If his head wasn’t close to splitting in two, he would have laughed.

“Okay first off, yeah. I really _balled that up_. I don’t regret the fun time we had at the joint together, but I do on account that it upset ya and got grumpy _Father Time_ mad at her.” Angel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But ‘kidnapped her’? You _pullin’ my leg_ ? I’ve seen that doll pitch three full-grown _goons_ in an alley with her bare hands! You’re more in the know than _me_ on whatever that’s all about! I think you woulda known _much_ earlier into the night if I was gonna pull some shady shit like that!”

"She would have asked me if she wanted to–" Vagatha bites back another tirade. Raising her hands in practiced meditation, confusing Angel by the sudden position of silence. When she takes a deep breath, he realizes she attempts to calm herself from shouting.

Thank God for that. His head is killing him.

“...Why didn’t you ask me?” she levels.

Cracking open an eye, he carefully contemplates his answer. In fact, Charlie goes through his mind, and her insistence to ask Vaggie before they decided to _tear up the town._

“…I didn’t want you to say no. It’s so dumb thinkin’ back. It’s a stupid answer, but what’d ya expect from a _cafone_ like me. I just wanted to thank her in the only way I really knew how.” Angel’s eyes bulge out as he thinks over his wording. “And by that, I _just meant take her out dancing_!!! No funny business!!”

For once, Angel is hopeful the hangover would _bump_ him off like it always felt.

 _Anything_ to end how terrible he kept making things.

Vaggie's tight fists fall, thankful he reassured her then, because hearing a _rent boy_ say he wanted to thank Charlie in the 'only way he knew how'? She’s certain she’d have signed her soul to Lucifer for what she would have done to Angel on the spot.

Strangely enough, she finds herself impressed by the rare sincerity. With a pensive cross of her arms, she begins to wonder if this is the same man they had taken in two weeks ago. He’s not defending himself, nor is he heckling her.

Nor insulting Charlie for that matter, something he would jump at.

"...I _would_ have said no. _But…_ in your defense, she came back _safe_." Vaggie grimaces, not liking she basically complimented him. "Chicago is the worst city to be out at night. I'm honestly surprised you two came back at all. In one piece. Where did you take her?"

“Just a nearby piano bar. We talked, danced to some good music, and we each even got a turn to sing on the stage! Charlie was an instant hit with those pipes o’ hers!”

Vaggie gasps. "She sang?"

Angel quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah. That not something she does often?”

"...Not in a while, no..." Looking down, she ponders over the past few years, most especially of Charlie’s sudden fear of performing in public ever since the incident. "Not since Spring Forest. She's always loved singing. Maybe even a little too much.”

Angel remembers Charlie giving him a brief synopsis as to why she stopped. A boy. But he'd like to hear more about it from Vaggie's side."...Since when did she start singing?"

The ire dims, replaced by a new light freeing her heart in reminisce. “Since we were kids. Sometimes, she would sing in the church we went to as children just to hear her voice bounce around the walls. She sang so much that even Pastor Ren, possibly the most patient man I've ever known, had to end up coming up with a creative 'punishment' just to keep her quiet."

Vaggie laughs at the memory, a dull pang in her heart yearning to hear Pastor Ren once more. He would know just what to say to Charlie when all of this began. "He and the Abbess loved her, of course, but she did disrupt the class a lot with it."

This is the first time Angel’s seen her smile, and _hot dog,_ he has to say, it looks good on her. “Oh, heh. So our gal’s a bit of heaven with a wild side, eh?”

"You haven't seen anything yet." Without direction, she approaches him to gather his empty glass.

"She was so impulsive, but she has so much love for people, especially those who were down on their luck. She and I never had parents, so I can only say God gave her all that compassion. I know it didn’t come from me!” Vaggie laughs again with a shake to her head. “One time, during lunch, she asked for seconds, even though she didn't finish her plate. She ran out of the orphanage to give the food to a homeless man who was resting in an alleyway next door."

Angel doesn’t have words for that.

“Sweet kid.” he says after a pause. “Don’t see many like that in the big cities that keep their spark.”

"No... Not like her anymore. It's why I had us move out of the city. I wanted her to grow up in a small town with good people. And Spring Forest was _that_. It was everything I could have wanted for her; where she could be safe, and no one could hurt her.”

Then that _maldito bastardo_ ruined _everything._

Her hand tightens on the glass, a cloud brewing upon her brow. “I'm afraid the city will...remove that part of her. I don't want her to become like..." _Me_.

A little girl who would hurt others after being hurt so much herself for so long.

She looks at Angel. _You_.

And her mind drifts to Husk, the most jaded of all of them. _Him._

She shakes off the sadness of her lost innocence. _What’s happened has happened_.

"I was against this move from the start. With her getting involved with this stupid hunting thing. All it will do is hurt her.” Vagatha scowls at Angel again, resolidifying her stance of his actions. “So, you can understand why I was so upset last night."

Angel raises his hands in surrender. “I can respect that. I was born n’ raised in New York, and look what that did to me,” he jokes mirthlessly. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. She’s got a lotta fire to handle her own. Something she wouldn’t have without a helluva fine _bearcat_ guardian watching over her.”

He leans over so, grinning flirtatiously, only for Vaggie to quickly turn away again before he can catch sight of her smile. However, a laugh does escape.

“Eat your toast. Bread helps in settling your stomach.”

So, the morning falls into a peaceful lull, Angel following the command with a good-natured roll of his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, s _heba.”_

The clatter of dishes is softer, the acidity simmering off her shoulders now dispelled like a storm making way for a clear day. Even with a bland breakfast such as seltzer water and toasted bread, he can’t think of another time he’s had a peaceful morning.

In fact, until he’s stayed here, he hasn’t had a peaceful morning _ever._ Angry nurse and grumpy soldier aside, he can only remember the lulls between his clients being the most peace he’s had, having a cigarette and ten minutes of silence before the next one came.

“Have you already packed?”

“Wha?”

“Packed.” Vaggie’s on her toes, returning his now-dried glass back into the cupboard. “You made it clear you didn’t want to stick around longer than necessary, and you wanted to _blouse_ as soon as you had a clean bill of health. I just need to make one last checkup and you’re clear to go. Like you wanted.”

Angel can’t bring himself to answer for a little bit, watching the way her toes pointed and the way her figure elegantly stretches up. She’s pretty damn cute, when she wants to be.

_She’s got pretty nice tits from this angle._

He shakes his head with a clear of his throat, coming to his feet and coming to her aid. Vaggie looks at him cautiously when he takes the cup out of her fingers, easily reaching into the cupboard to place it.

His sigh is long and uncertain, not even his eyes lowered to meet hers. “And…what if I no longer wanna ditch?”

Vaggie recoils, before narrowing her eyes. “Absolutely not!”

Angel cringes. _Well, I should have expected that._ “If this is about what happened last night–”

“It’s more than just last night, Angel. It’s also that you...” she looks away, uncomfortable.

He scrutinizes her, before it dawns on him. “Oh. You mean my job.”

“...Angel, what you do is not…” Vaggie huffs. “It’s not right! I can’t tell you to stop because I know you won’t listen, but I do not want Charlie around that. I don’t want that taking place in this house.”

“Hey, I follow your rules about not smoking in the house or taking any calls!” the _rent_ _boy_ protests. “And if this is about the other thing, I’m sorry! I swear I was trying to be as quiet as possible when I had to wank one off! I used the gags and everything so I wouldn’t disturb no one at night!”

“I _really_ didn’t need to know about that, and that’s my point exactly,” the brunette sighs with a curdle of her nose. “How can I trust you when you’ve already broken my trust with my best friend? You think I can trust you not to break it again by deciding to bring your ‘clients’ inside?”

Silence pervades between them, the nurse backing away to turn to the sink. He looks at her retreating back, watching the way her head bows over the sudsy water.

Angel can’t argue with that, because he’s only proven her point.

More than that, he’s proven it to himself.

In the years he’s lived under his father’s roof, all he knew was strife. Murders were normal news, drugs just another part of the family life, and more times than he’s cared to count, he’s had to take enemy gang members _out for a ride._

Worse yet, his pastimes were a ‘favorite’ subject at the dinner table. Something his elder brother and his father hated with a blood-boiling passion. Like _they_ were any better, considering what they did for a living.

To silence the ridicule of his father and block the revulsion in his older brother’s eyes, sneaking out was a frequent outcome. Before the drugs became a necessity to push him through a long night, they were an escape. Before he swayed the hearts of men and women alike to put food on the table, bedding them was something he did to boost his overinflated ego, on top of getting his rocks off. Each vice became a prison.

He would rather this prison than the Hell on Earth _Big House_ known as the Accardi Family mansion.

One of his better escapes, his _healthier_ escape, was his sister. 

Bless her soul, his twin sister, Molly. For hours, they would talk deep into the night, doing each other's hair, playing around with makeup, modeling different dresses she helped him pick out on one of many shopping sprees. They had cash to burn and _hawt dog,_ did he burn it on all the shoes, the dresses, the glam; but all the gold and silver he wore around his wrists and neck could not compare to the delight Molly was to his soul.

She deserves better than him as a brother, frequently betraying her trust when he took another hit. Promise after promise broken, and she would pay for his selfishness, always staying up late in the night praying this would not be the night he could no longer open his eyes.

He rubs his face, pursing his lips with a squirm.

All he’s known is fear. Fear of his old man, of the old man’s _goons_ coming after him when he ran away, of the enemy gangs recognizing him off the streets. 

When he came down to dine with this odd little gang of misfits at Charlie’s invitation, her kindness, Vaggie’s home-cooked meals, and even Husk’s fortitude to naturally act as the head pillar put him through a loop. He could only stare at them in a daze at the natural flow of conversation laced with respect and love and care exuding from each of them. Between Husk and Vaggie, there is a marinated recognition of honored authority without fear or resentment, and he was welcomed to laugh amongst them.

The two weeks he’s stayed here, he was reminded of those late nights with Molly, the only nights he felt he was _home_.

This is how _home_ was _supposed_ to feel.

He doesn’t want to wake up on a rickety motel bed knowing this was only a passing dream, with the voice of his rampant anxieties telling him never to rest. Call him greedy, but there is something terrifying in the thought of never seeing Charlie, Husk, and Vaggie ever again.

It’ll be like Molly sending him away all over again...

Angel swallows, rolling his jaw to summon _something_ to say, daring to look up to the nurse, only for her to look back in concern of the elongated silence.

Vaggie bites her lip. She’s so used to his snide criticism! Without some smartass retort flowing off his Italian tongue, she’s assaulted by a strangeness to the uncertainty on his face. He should be acting insulted, as though she crossed a line when she was frank how much she despises his line of work.

Only he stands there, searching for words.

“...You’ve changed while you’ve been around.” she muses at length, a light flickering in her _conk_. “Not by much, but it’s noticeable.”

“Blondie’s a nice gal. Maybe a bit too sugary for my taste, but she’s kinda grown on me.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance.

“Charlie has that effect on people. She just…brings out the best in you.”

“Hm…”

The silence is long and tense, broken only by a long sigh exerted from Angel. _Ah, fuck it_.

“Look, I’ve been an asshole. Especially to the doll. She’s a good one, and you ain’t so bad yourself. Even Mr. Grumpy-Gills has his moments. It’s been fun, sticking around.”

“You can’t just make a decision to move in just because of a few niceties.”

Angel pouts playfully, his lashes fluttering prettily, and she fights back a chuckle. “I’ll admit, when you stopped being an asshole, you were much more bearable to be around.”

“Was that a compliment?”

Vaggie ignores his question. “Be honest, why the sudden change of heart?”

“It beats suckin’ limp dick for a place t’ crash,” he flippantly waves a hand, “and frankly, my ass hurts. Call it wanting a change a’ scenery.”

“That just makes me like the idea even less.”

Angel’s head drops in exaggeration. “Look, _babe,_ I like you guys! And it’d be nice to have a place to crash that ain’t goin’ nowhere. Ya happy?!”

Her eyes bulge, prompting him to continue.

“I owe ya. Ya let me crash here, ya patched me up, and I ain’t one t’ back out on payin’ a debt.” He looks away, arms abashedly crossing. “And _maybe_ I ain’t keen on eatin’ moldy motel food. I mean, I ain’t got a bill t’ pay! _Quacks_ charge an arm and a leg jus’ for a patch job! I mean, what do _you_ get outta that?”

“I mean… it was Charlie’s idea in the first place to let you stay here, so I wasn’t really expecting anything.”

“That just proves my point!” Angel steps forward, determined. “Doll, where I’m from, I owe ya my damn life! That means if I don’t pay you back, I might as well throw myself in front of a trolley!”

“Okay! You made your point!” At last, Vaggie raises a hand to stop him. “If you can promise me something... I’ll talk to Husk about it.”

When she looks up again, Angel lights up brighter than a Christmas tree.

Vaggie almost regrets her encouragement; in seconds, she’s backed into the sink staring into Angel’s ecstatic face suddenly far too close to her own. “Ya mean it?!”

“Hold your horses!” Vaggie lightly forces him back, returning some distance between them. “You _have_ to stop. As in ‘quit your job’.”

Angel’s expression drops.

“I mean it!” she points firmly. “You have to promise to end it. I’ll help you find another job, but you want to stay, you are cutting off that part of your life. No more ‘clients’, no more drugs, no alcohol.”

Angel balks. “No alcohol!? What about gramps!?”

“Don’t worry about him! This is about you!”

He grunts, but keeps quiet.

“There’s also the issue of where you’ll be accepted as an employee.” she sighs. “Anyone finds out you were a _gigolo_ , they’ll turn you down flat without a second thought.”

He grimaces. “Didn't Jesus choose to talk and spend time with prostitutes over traditionally more 'reputable' people?”

Vaggie rolls her eyes, somewhat surprised he didn’t try to argue Scripture with her before. “To share the gospel, not participate with them.”

"You think that prostitution was my first choice in a job?"

Once more, Vaggie is caught off-guard by his words. "...I don't know what you used to do, Angel."

"Well, let's just say it was bad enough that it's the reason I had to turn to prostitution as my main source of income. Didn't leave me much of a choice."

Vaggie uncrosses her arms, peering at him through her bangs. She’s not entirely sure she _wants_ to know what he used to be involved in.

"... Well… Now, you don’t have to." She reaches out, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Look, Angel, I'm not going to ask what it is you used to do. Frankly, I don't care. We all have shit we want to hide. If it ends up Husk won't let you stay here as a permanent resident, I'll help you find an apartment, and we can find you a decent job." Her thumb rubs over his shoulder. "... You're not a bad guy. If there's something Charlie taught me, it's that there's a rainbow inside every person, bad or good."

He chuckles dryly, looking up. "Of course she'd think something that sappy."

Despite herself, Vaggie’s laughter joins in with his, a half-smile tilted. “I know, right? Anyways, I'm going to help you. I promise." They share a long stare, Angel in his uncertainty her word can be trusted (And Lord, he wants to trust it), and Vaggie in her conviction. Dropping her hand, she clears her throat when the silence lingers a little too long. "Well, I suppose that means we need to potentially renovate your room to make it more cozy.”

The way her words formed give him pause, one to invite him to near her face with a purr. “... I can think of a few ways you can make it ‘cozy’.” 

“I can change my mind!”

“Nope!” Angel bounds behind her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and booping her nose. “Ya already agreed! You're stuck with me, _tatina!_ Get used to it! _”_

Vaggie rolls her eyes, pulling herself out of his embrace to pick up his empty plate of bread crumbs. “Seriously, though. Why do you suddenly want to stay after bitching the last two weeks about how you couldn't wait to leave?”

Angel stops mid-celebration, both arms hovering midair when he pivots on his toe toward the kitchen. “I gave you my reasons. It’s mostly ’cause of Blondie, and…”

Vaggie regards him questioningly. “ _‘And’?_ ”

Angel slowly studies Vaggie now, wandering eyes absorbing the ripples of curves wrapped in her slim-fitting frock. Even buttoned up to her neck, she’s got the _goods,_ from her shiny, chocolate locks draped over her shoulder in a single braid, her heavily lashed eyes batting in confusion like feathered fans. Even her skin is the richest tone of earth, like a polished clay pot shining under the Italian summer sun.

 _Fuck, when did I become a poet? Been around Blondie too long._

“Nothin’.” Angel denies, about to retreat before Vaggie calls after him again.

"Don't think you're off the hook! I'm putting you to work!"

Once again, he turns back, a large grin applied as his eyes flutter coquettishly. “What kinda work we talkin’ about here?” he asks, voice sultry. “I’m liking the idea of domestic roleplay.”

Vaggie trudges up to him, smacking the rag unto his chest with a grimace. " _You_ are helping me clean the dishes! Take out the trash! Buy some groceries, mow the lawn... You know, actual 'work'!"

“Mrrrreow!” His tongue licentiously licks over his teeth when he flips the rag over his shoulder. “Harder, baby!”

"Ugh!" she pushes him back, turning back to the kitchen. "Don't think that little spiel's going to be allowed in this house! I mean it! Real _work_! You want Husk to take you seriously? Start doing some honest work around here. Now, go make your bed. Your wounds are healed up by now! Also, put on a suit. You're coming with me to church."

His shoulders dropping when each of his passes fall flat, Angel sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes when he turns to the stairs. "Wait, what?"

"You think I'm leaving you alone again? Absolutely not. Get your suit on. A _real_ suit." 

At this point, Angel now begins to wonder if staying here will be worth it. “Fiiiiiiine! I’m goin’!” A smirk curls on Angel’s face as he turns back at the banister, devilish. “Should I be expecting some company later?”

His head is then whipped back when a wooden spoon whips him squarely on the forehead.

* * *

They walk silently through the streets of Chicago’s North Side, Charlie looking down at their feet. She doesn't feel well-rested at all, for the entire night, she was addled with the apprehension of Husk possibly kicking down her door at 0300. Only, he didn’t come at 3:00am. Nor 4:00am. Not even at 5:00am. It was at the stroke of 6:00am when her sleep-deprived eyes saw him enter her room, dressed in a coat and a briefcase in hand. 

He wasn’t wearing his uniform. In fact, he's wearing his church clothes. She raises herself from the mattress, bloodshot eyes squinting at the perplexing wardrobe. Then it hits her.

Sunday! Morning mass is today! _But then, why the briefcase? He's never brought a briefcase before._

“Get up. Your punishment starts now.”

"... Before church?"

"Did I stutter?"

With only a piece of toast and a quick cup of coffee in her belly, she follows her mentor across the city, taking the trolley until she’s caught marveling at the _uptown_ houses. While their beauty is awe-inspiring, what’s caught her tongue is the tense silence of her mentor. The only thing he’s told her was to ready herself, and since then, it’s been a long, uncomfortable silence from the mighty soldier. She’s attempted many times to try and say something, only for the hard look in his eye keeping her silent. Charlie simply couldn’t tell if he is angry or focused at the moment.

Oh, how she prays it’s the latter.

In her discomfort, she looks down at her left hand, rubbing it under her thumb as though it will wipe off the Mark still undoubtedly there. A moment of morbid curiosity overtakes her, fingers flexing in thought when she dares to take the edge of the glove and lightly tugs it open.

Charlie wishes she hadn’t. The image hasn't darkened nor faded, and while she’s numbed by its presence, she’s still just as disappointed. She doesn’t know what she hoped for, really, as it hasn’t shown any difference in the last few years. Returning the glove over her skin, she lets her mind drift at each of the houses, imagining all the different characters who could own such beautiful palaces.

Charlie then recognizes her favorite home of the area, the one she thinks still looks like a fantasy from a Christmas book. Even now, it still stuns her with its radiance.

_Sebastian always called it a ‘cheap doll house’ whenever we drove by it…_

She can certainly imagine Mr. D’Arcantel owning this one, being so knowledgeable in ballroom dancing like a well-taught _egg_ and his bright personality. The lights shine just like his dazzling smile, and the cardinal rouge of the brick stairway just as sharp as his red suit.

A part of her feels dreadfully foolish fawning over his memory the way she is, but his image does exactly as she seeks, for her anxiety ebbs.

“What are you smiling about?”

Immediately, her stomach sinks, anxiously looking up to see the corporal’s deep grimace is now directed to her. “Oh! Um… Nothing…”

“Don’t seem like 'nothing'.”

“... I… I was just thinking these houses look so lovely! There couldn’t possibly be anything ill-begotten taking place here. A-Assuming we’re here to do what I think we are…?”

He looks ahead of him. “Bingo.”

Completely forgetting about her anxiety, she stares at him openly, lips unhinged. “B-But do you think I’m ready?!”

“You thought you were ready to make a decision without us involved last night, so I’d say so!”

“I’m sorry!! Husk, truly! I’m so sorry!”

Fear has no factor in her apology, but genuine remorse. Learning of Vaggie’s fear last night, she is aware even Husk was undoubtedly worried when she explained herself for her and Angel’s decisions last night. The thought she could have hurt them with her decision is unbearable. If only she had just followed through with her gut and responsibly requested their permission, she wouldn’t feel this awful weight of guilt!

_Was meeting Mr. D’Arcantel worth this?_

Husk pauses, the briefcase dangling when he heard her voice quaver. Damn girl, and her ridiculous emotions. He turns to her then, and as expected, her eyes are shining with those damned tears. His powdered-blue eyes narrow.

“You get that what you did last night wasn’t okay, right?”

She nods, looking down. “Yes. I know.”

The veteran sighs, shaking his head when he adjusts his felt cap. “Look, I’m not…I’m not gonna tell ya you can’t have some fun once and a while in between me bustin’ your ass with sparring practice and hunts.”

Twin obsidians pop, looking up only to see Husk’s face turned away. Even when she doesn’t meet his eye, there’s a subtle yield to his face. No longer a hard line, but a downward grimace of concern.

“...You’re not angry?”

“Naw. Sure as Hell _disappointed!”_

She flinches.

“But not angry. Even I need to let out some steam, and this job is the literal reason I was driven to drink.” Husk points sharply at her. “You ran off at night in _Chicago!_ For a _greenhorn_ , that was a fucking stupid stunt you pulled!” he shoves his hand in his pocket, his expression no longer etched in annoyance, but with stern softness. “Just…keep me in the loop when you go off somewhere?”

Charlie thanks the Lord above, her chest so light. She feels as though she can float! Even though this trip is technically her punishment, him allowing her a little bit of freedom is more than she ever could have hoped for!

“I promise!”

He nods, nudging his chin forward when Charlie bounces beside him. “I mean it, Little Charlotte. Chicago is full of demons and non-demonic dangers. You weren’t exactly clean and trim with your first encounter. I want you to have access to back up until you get the hang of it.”

“You worry about me?”

He screeches to a halt, scowling. “I didn’t say–”

Before he can finish, two arms embrace him around the waist in surprise. He stiffens, his arms once more hovering at his sides, unable to figure whether to return the hug or simply leave her be.

While his face heightens in color, her rosebud cheeks glow, her smile so impish. He’s certain she’s doing this to purposely make him uncomfortable.

“I know. And thank you.”

Releasing him then, Charlie backs away while Husk tries to regather his bearings, snorting harshly when he picks up speed in the direction of their destination. 

When Charlie looks to her left, she’s seized. All around them, snow-capped homes dazzles the eye, white lawns sparkling like sugar crystals. But this mansion…

This one she knows all too well, yet at the same time, she does not.

The Von Eldridge household.

Once, it too sparkled like these beautiful homes, now overwhelmed by the clutches of ivy. Windows black with shadow, and some broken panes only seem to open to a vast darkness within. Roof rotted into a decrepit slouch and lawn unkempt with weeds and thorny briars, Charlie’s heart hammers with unease

The deeper they venture, the more a new recognition begins to dawn on her.

This _is_ Sebastian’s house! Or was? What on earth _happened_ to it!?

A new anxiousness fills her mind, her hands moving on their own accord until she wraps her arm around one of the veteran’s.

Startled, Husk tenses at the delicate hold on his bicep. “Uhhh? Kid?”

“This house…”

He regards her carefully, trying to read her face, only for her to hide under her cloche hat.

“What about it…?”

“... Nothing.”

He huffs, shaking his head as they continue to walk arm in arm.

Even after they arrive at the manor just one block away from the old haunt, Charlie can barely hear Husk tell the butler they are here for a job. Even when she hears frantic voices inviting them inside, she still could not pull her eyes away from the Von Eldridge household.

 _“_ This is my apprentice. Hey, kid?”

Charlie jumps, at last turning to an old woman’s tear streaked face. Immediately, she forgets the decrepit sight, already deadset on freeing this woman of the oppression she’s endured in her home. “Y-Yes! I’m sorry! Please, let us take care of this, ma’am.”

They enter. A cold, evil chill runs down her spine, and she knows now today will be the day.

Her first exorcism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary
> 
> splifficated, zozzled - drunk  
> doll, babe - term of endearment for ‘girl’  
> Jake - it’s fine, okay  
> Jane, broad, dame - woman  
> balled that up, balled up - messed up  
> Father Time - term for a man over 30  
> stepped out- go on a date  
> know my onions, Know your onions - know what you're doing/saying.  
> goon - henchmen of the mafia  
> greenhorn- a newbie  
> greeneyed- jealous  
> dust, dope - drugs  
> Pullin’ my leg - Are you kidding me?  
> whack, to - to kill  
> sheba - Attractive woman  
> rent boy, gigolo- A male prostitute  
> razz, to - to make fun of; tease  
> lather, to - to throw a tantrum; to get enraged  
> pachuca - Term for Mexican woman  
> bulls - police officers  
> Baloney- same connotation as 'yeah, right!'  
> dewdropper - an unemployed person, a layabout  
> gams - legs  
> French, necking - make out; usually involving lots of caressing and touching as well as kissing  
> sheik - an attractive man  
> clean sneak - to sneak/get away with something undetected  
> carry a torch - to have an unrequited crush  
> button - face  
> Dumb Dora - an unintelligent woman  
> Joe Brooks - a sharply dressed man  
> Horsefeathers - that’s bull  
> Real McCoy - the real deal  
> conk - head  
> Big House, can - jail  
> hawt dog - same connotation as ‘oh man!’, ‘hot damn’  
> baby grand - A strong man  
> bearcat - a fiery or ill-tempered woman  
> Tear up the town- Go party, or hit the clubs  
> Blouse- leave  
> egg- a man, usually a rich one.
> 
> Translations
> 
> bambolina - Italian endearment; “little doll”  
> la dulce vita - Italian expression; “the sweet life”, a life of indolence and self-indulgence  
> Santo cielo, donna! - Italian; ‘Good heavens, woman!’  
> cafone - Mafia slang; an embarrassment to oneself and others, can also mean a phony  
> tatina - Italian endearment
> 
> cojones - Spanish; vulgar term for testicles   
> maldito bastardo - Spanish; vulgar term for Fucking bastard
> 
> YOOOO!!  
> Happy New Year, Peeps! Thank you again for staying with us and enjoying our collaboration of demon exorcisms and Apocalyptic craziness! We hope everyone has been safe and keeping themselves safe while having a good drink to go with the fireworks!
> 
> If you would like to see more drawings pertaining to Celestine, TRSG, Act III and various other works, you can check out my Patreon at Evine_Arts! You can find us at @FurorNocturna and @WifeoftheSoules on Twitter as well, where you can find updates and spoilers to future chapters!
> 
> Please, help support us by leaving comments and subscribe!
> 
> God Bless all of you, and hope you're enjoying the ride!
> 
> We will be seeing Mr. D'Arcantel again very VERY soon ;3
> 
> Signing off!
> 
> WifeoftheSoulless and FurorNocturna


	9. Childrens' Bible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faithless nation, doth my heart become your toy to mock?
> 
> Are mine tears your playthings, your temporary baubles?
> 
> Your heart have you given unto the ebony frock,
> 
> The witch's dress, to which your soul shall become blackened rubbles.

**Mark 9:17-19 ESV** 17 And someone from the crowd answered him, “Teacher, I brought my son to you, for he has a spirit that makes him mute. 18 And whenever it seizes him, it throws him down, and he foams and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid. So I asked your disciples to cast it out, and they were not able.” 19 And he answered them, “O faithless generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you? Bring him to me.”

* * *

A cold and dark stairwell shudders under their steps, the path guided only by the candelabra given to Husk as they venture below an abysmal blackness beneath. A cry breaks across the walls, wet wailings of a man when metal chimings heralded their descent. Charlie’s heart grieves to hear such childlike weeping, pitched akin to drowning agony.

“Don’t be fooled.” Husk is aware of his youthful apprentice’s heart, tender to the broken in spirit. He rears harshly, turning over a hard glare. “You remember what his parents told us?”

Charlie’s back chills recalling the father’s bloody eyepatch when he gave them his grave warning: _Don’t fall victim to his weeping._

“...I do.”

Saying no more, they continue down until their heels toll against hard concrete.

Charlie nearly cries out at the crumpled heap of a man before them, haggard and wretched with red incisions ripped across the entirety of his fine suit. Bright silk ruined beyond recognition, his fingers bear the testament of his wounds, blood embedded beneath his nails, and bare feet newly scabbed from pieces of broken glass.

Surrounding him are countless broken bottle pieces; stains of wine, scotch, and brandy each coloring the concrete into decay. Charlie's head swims with the sharp smell of wasted alcohol, yet Husk easily steps into the cellar without so much as a curl to his nose.

“Hell of a waste.” Husk laments.

The man’s head snaps up, and Charlie’s eyes are drawn to the shackles around his wrist. She gasps, following the chain from his wrist to a metal rod attached to a metal bar soldered into the concrete wall.

She jumps afright when he jerks to his feet.

The chain yanks him back, leaving only the painful cry of rusty metal in his wake. Charlie’s heart hammers, relief released in a tight breath.

Charlie then hears the whine she was met with at their entrance. Tears stream from his bloodshot eyes when he falls to his bloodied knees. Her heart breaks at the brokenness piercing through his downcast gaze. No malevolent cursing jars their ears, only a desperate man praying for freedom.

“Help me! Please! Please, let me out!” His voice hoarse from hours of sobbing. “Please, there’s been some misunderstanding! I’m not a demon! I would never hurt papa!”

“Oh, you poor thing…”

Husk is quick to bar her approach.

“Who are you?” he quivers, much like a brittle leaf in the arctic wind when he takes one look at the corporal, “P-Please!! You need to listen to me! Miss! Sir, please!”

He pulls at his shackles again, tears falling anew. “Please, j-just let me explain myself to mama! I don’t know what happened! I was _zozzled_ **,** and I don’t remember a thing, but I would never hurt my own papa!”

“...Corporal…” Charlie whispers. “Do you think this is some mistake? Maybe we should take him to a doctor...”

“Stay here.”

However reluctant, she obeys when he walks forward. The candelabra remains steady in Husk’s hold, the briefcase glinting with a sinister polish.

“What are you doing?!” shudders the man, unwilling to look at Husk from behind his shielding arm.

His only response is an audible sniff reaching Charlie’s ears, his seeking eyes lifted to the ceiling and their surrounding walls. She recognizes the habit instantly, and repeats after him, but neither fire nor brimstone can be detected through the alcohol’s stench.

The candelabra lain aside, the briefcase is rested on the floor. Brass clasps unlocked by the push of his fingers, old leather creaks open to but a few items locked within.

A silver cross. An ovaloid silver flask, the Knights of Enoch crest shaped on the cap. A worn Bible sits beneath, bound with an old leather strap, and the most astonishing of the items, a silver pea-shooter **.** A familiar throb on her shoulder beckons her hand to press away the phantoms of an old bullet wound still left from the training grounds of Minnesota.

“Gonna ask you something, pal.”

Husk unclips the Bible and the flask from the briefcase is uncapped by the flick of his thumb. “Ya like guttin’ dogs?”

Charlie gapes. _What in heaven’s name?!_

The heir, too, balks in amazement, a new well of rage in his voice. “What the **fuck** kinda question is that?!”

“How about birds? Like how easy their necks snap?” 

“You crazy ko **ok**! No! I don’t wan’ **t** to do anything like t **h** at!”

Charlie frowns, hearing a strange fluctuation in his shout.

“What about _quiffs_ then?” He continues as though it were a simple conversation one would have at the dinner table. “Ya like getting an easy piece? Doesn’t take much to crush a human windpipe either. Like watching fear in their final moments as the life drains away from their eyes, don’tcha?”

His jaw unhinges, and the color drains from his round face, a secret discovered. “That wasn’t **me!!** I swear to God, I d **id** n’t do that!”

“Dunno. Ya seem the type who has secrets.” Husk’s eyes look him up and down. Mr. Norman Franks is a portly fellow, with a belly too large for the tailored suit barely wrapped around his form. His soft abdomen bulges through his button-up, ruined from the ravages of past violence. “Especially when fellas like you got the _dough_ to throw around. If the _mazuma_ ain’t enough to _get Everlieghed_ , then shit-stains like you tend to, say…go off the _deep-end_. Maybe enough to try to _chill_ your own father.”

Her stomach coils, but not only from the coarse provocation from her mentor. Something has begun to stink down here. The odor of rotting flesh charred beyond a boiling point.

The heir only vigorously shakes his head! “No! No, I wouldn’t kill him! I wouldn’t kill anybody! I didn’t mean to hurt papa! I don’t know what happened!! All I know is that I woke up down here! Someone’s set me up! I swear to you!”

“Corporal…?”

“Are you going to show yourself,” Husk ignores her, the flask upheld with a glint of judgement, “or hide like the cowardly worm you are?”

The heir backs away when he sees the silver container, going only as far as the chains would allow him. His shivering strengthens, and Charlie can make out the raw skin ringed around his wrists, and can somehow see herself in his place. Desperate for freedom, for someone to listen, so desperate to the point he is willing to nearly sever his wrist.

“No, ple **as** e… I didn’t d **o** it… I wouldn’t do that to Pop… Please… Pleas **e** , sir, please…!”

His tears spill over, his whimpering heightened into heart-wrenching sobs. Gripped, Charlie’s hand clenches over her chest. The sound is too painfully familiar to that of the children she heard in the orphanage.

The cry of the Abandoned. 

“Corporal, I can’t watch this!”

“You’re going to stay where you are and watch!!”

“He needs a doctor!”

The man screams, hysterically pulling at his bonds.

“Husk!”

“Pl **e** a **s** e, let **m** e g **o**!”

“ _Husk!”_

 _“Silē!_ _”_

Charlie freezes at the force of his voice. All the years she’s learned under him, she thought she heard each pitch of his voice, from shouting to a low grumble.

This was different. His voice chills like a warning, a clap of thunder that shot a cold fire through her being with a gravitas unlike anything she’s ever heard.

A hush overcomes the cellar, from pebbles of broken glass to the flicker of flame on the candles wick. An uncanny silence now pervades, an eeriness impregnates the empty space.

The heir sits completely motionless, head down, body immobile. Charlie fears for a moment he fell unconscious from fear, daring to disobey when she steps forward once again to assist him.

A new sound breaks the stillness, her movements paused. 

A hitch of the heir’s breath, following a sequence of hiccups. 

_He’s awake! “_ Mr. Franks!”

No answer but a tremble of his frame. 

“Mr. Franks?”

Her shoulders shake as she listens closer.

A giggle. A small sound at the beginning, before it steadily grows. A slow, hysterical chortle, as though he thought of an inside joke, and was losing himself to the laughter to escape the present. Charlie’s studying sight circles around the atmosphere, under the impression he might have seen something to cause the unusual mirth. When nothing beyond the shadows reveal an answer, she nears Husk in her growing discomfort, his mighty form a bastion to her smaller frame.

“M-Mr. Franks?” her voice timidly raises louder.

A crack of a stiff neck, and his head whips back.

“Lord of mercy!!” Charlie jumps back, grabbing onto Husk’s shoulders when she propels them rearward.

How did–?! When did he–?!

Two lurid orbs for eyes stare back at her from a brackish face, decayed beyond recognition. Pus speckles his neck and lips, his eyes ringed with blackish coloring, like blood has seeped completely from his face.

“ł ₩₳₦₦₳ **₣Ʉ₵₭** ɎØɄⱤ ₵Ʉ₦₮, ɎØɄ ₣Ʉ₵₭ł₦₲ **₴ⱠɄ₮!** ”

A grotesque voice, too dry and wrathful to be human, rolls with claws scraping down his throat.

 _“_ ɎØɄ ₣Ʉ₵₭ł₦₲ ₴ł₵₭ ₱łɆ₵Ɇ Øƒ ₣łⱠ₮Ⱨ! _”_ It directs his taunts to Husk, teeth gnashing for his throat. _“_ ɎØɄ ⱠØØ₭ł₦₲ ₮Ø ⱤɆĐɆɆM̶ ₳ⱠⱠ ₮ⱧɆ ɎɆ₳Ɽ₴ ɎØɄ ₣Ʉ₵₭ł₦₲ ฿Ɇ₮Ɽ₳ɎɆĐ ɎØɄⱤ ₵ØĐɆ!?? ₩ⱧɎ ĐØ₦’₮ ɎØɄ ₣Ʉ₵₭ ₮ⱧɆ ₵ØⱤ₱₴Ɇ Ø₣ ₮ⱧɆ **₴₭₳₦₭** ɎØɄ ₳฿₳₦ĐØ₦ɆĐ!! _”_

_What…?_

Charlie looks over to Husk for answers, but he doesn’t acknowledge her. 

His disposition remains stoically impassive.

From the change of features to the vulgar tongue overflowing their ears, she stands astonished and frightened. The dramatic change in Mr. Franks is a far cry from the weeping boy who only begged for help, yet nothing of Husk’s expression yield’s even a raised eyebrow. 

Charlie can hardly stave off the wooziness as she bares witness to the macabre display of Mr. Frank’s body warping into something inhuman. Teeth now whetted sharp, grated by razored jaws, blood running down his chin from his own split lips. He thrashes against his bonds, a wild dog’s roar bellowing from his throat. His head frays into is black briar, patches of dead skin peering through each gnarled lock, claws break through his nails.

Fresh blood spills from open cuticles as an animalistic roar ripples through his deformed body. His stomach bloats until his tailored suit stretches taut, tighter and tighter.

Button by button, gold studs burst from the seams, veers with a bullet’s speed into the darkness; but his growth is not enough to break the shackle from his bleeding wrist. Sickening crackles pepper their ears. His body contorts, misplaced bones pop out from their sockets, hunching over on reversed hands, and his knees overextended backwards as he takes to a crouch on the balls of his feet.

Charlie stumbles, her legs give way under her. Another wash of sickness convulses over her, deep gasps forcing her body to swallow back the bile burning the back of her throat. Her hands tremble too strongly to hold onto her mentor for steadiness. Stolen of all her strength, a heavy thud of her knees numbs her mind to the awful day her nightmare first began. 

A question damns her mind with an unbearable weight.

_This is… what I become…?_

There is only ever a vague memory of her transformations, flashes of dreams coasting through her mind like blips of an overactive imagination. A flash of Sebastian’s terrified face, a slash of unreasonable rage toward Husk before it would fade away into the murky ocean of her confused mind.

Husk explained it is a common outcome, for her mind and body were not her own at the time. 

_‘_ A possession entails’, he told her during one of many lessons, ‘a demon taking full control of a human’s will: the body and soul of the invaded fully represents the nature of something abominable’.

_This is… what all of Spring Forest saw that day?_

“Get up!” The Corporal’s harsh voice hardly reaches her, “It sees you look weak, it’ll use that against you!”

A ringing in her ears deters her, fists pounding in her head. Ghostly wails echo above them, behind them, at each side like unholy vigils. Amidst the din she can still make out a pair of weakened fists beating the door aboveground, a hoarse mother _begging_ tearfully for the monster to give back her baby boy!

Charlie’s breathing heightens to shallow gulps, all her senses lost reliving the times her mind was savagely invaded by her own demon.

_Is this what Vaggie saw?_

Husk grits his teeth, casting wrath’s gaze toward the crumpled heap of his apprentice, but his time is short whilst the demon makes its presence known. His task leaves him little more choice than to carry out the deed on his own. Bible open, his tongue spirals Latin invocations, unperturbed at length even as the evil, disembodied voices curse back ruthlessly. Mr. Franks’ destroyed body twitches and convulses with a serpent’s keenness, hissing to and fro with a weave of his head.

Another twitch of the veteran’s nose, and the evidence curls when he masks a cough. The rotten stench of dead flesh and putrid bones pervades, but he remains unfettered in speaking the olden tongue.

Charlie jerks as soon as she smells it, astonishment coloring her face when she forces herself to stand. One heels clips the floor, and the possessed shifts toward the sound. At once, her movements cease. Those terrible, dead eyes meet her gaze, petrifying her.

He — No! _It!_ — laughs again. The giggle then grows into two voices, one of false childlike innocence, the other a dusty croak of a frog. A third joins the pair, a faraway chortle of a jeering beast screeching through stalks of corn. The laughter distorts more and more with every new voice, louder into the triumph of a discordant choir, voices unfit to another thousand.

“ł ₭₦Ø₩ ɎØɄⱤ §Ɇ-₵ⱤɆ₮! ł ₭₦Ø₩ ɎØɄⱤ §ɆɆ₵ⱤɆɆɆɆ₮!” 

“...Stop it. _Stop it…_ ”

“Pay attention, worm!” 

The urgency to protect her errs his teeth to peel into a snarl! Storming toward the bastard who dares to look at her, he stands as a blockade between the damned and the innocent. Husk stoops over him, clawing the back of his head. The hair thin and stringy in his grip, he watches fearlessly of the rotting face, black puss running across his face as pimples throb like ripened berries in a black harvest.

Mr. Franks only cackles louder. “ĐØ₦’₮ Ɏ₳ ₩₳₦₦₳ **₣Ʉ₵₭** ⱧɆⱤ ₮ØØ, ₱ⱤłɆ₴₮!? ₴ł₦₵Ɇ Ɏ₳ ₥ł₴₴ɆĐ ɎØɄⱤ ₵Ⱨ₳₦₵Ɇ ₩ł₮Ⱨ ⱧɆⱤ **₩ⱧØⱤɆ ₥Ø₮ⱧɆⱤ?** ! _”_

His fist tightens, the neck cracking he pulls back hader. “Don’t look at her.” 

The words pour forth in disdain, and the flask is poured over the abomination’s face.

_HIIIIISSSSSS!!!_

Charlie’s hands are thrown over her ears, but she cannot bay the screams rattling through her head. The screeching bats rushes by her ears. A deafening quake rolls through the room, the floor shaking beneath her knees. Broken bottles rattle across the surface, one clinking over as it bumps her foot.

She was stupid! She was arrogant! Such a child to believe she could do what Husk does! Over and over again, he told her to turn away, and every time, she refused! Five years, she’s refused to turn away! Nothing he said or did deterred her! No bruise nor scorn!

Seeing the foes of the damned by her own two eyes, her resolve sinks into a quicksand reserved only for the dreamy-eyed, now wizened to the horrors of Hell’s hidden corridors. 

“ **HUSK!!!** ” she cries out his name without any true reason. “PLEASE!! I– I CAN’T! I CAN’T DO THIS!!”

It’s not Husk who answers, but a wet gurgle of demonic shadows, drowning in the holy water as one more attempt to mock ripens. “Ø₣ ₵ØɄⱤ₴Ɇ ɎØɄ ₵₳₦’₮.”

 _“SILĒ!_ _”_

Husk, the possessed heir, the beating of desperate fists on the door above the stairs have intermingled into a maelstrom of sound beneath a black tempest. Charlie’s sinking, deeper and deeper into the depths until she rests on a black, cold surface.

Her world blackening into a soundless void.

* * *

_THUNK!_

Close, but no cigar. Vaggie sighs, shaking her head at herself, dragging a damp towel over her forehead. Walking toward the target of packed hay, she takes a hold of the long spear deeply embedded in the middle of the polearm. Safe to say her strength has made some progress.

Before she can attempt to yank out the weapon, her eyes catch the movement of shadows behind the shaded windows leading into Husk’s personal study. Faint movements of a figure paces the curtain, until it disappears from view, the figure moving further from the window to give away its position. Narrowing her gaze, she ponders of what she saw of Charlie and Husk these past few days.

Too quickly, Vaggie casted blame on Husk for possibly passing too harsh a punishment. Only for Charlie, her voice a small, timid croak, to stand again for his character.

Yet as she stood as an obstacle against Vaggie’s accusations, she would not look her in the eye. In fact, she looked at everything besides Vaggie, or Husk for that matter. Angel noticed it too, even at a distance when he looked down from the second floor. From the moment the pair entered past dinner time one Sunday evening, a strangeness took place in their home, one greatly lacking of Charlie’s singing voice and vibrant personality.

Four days later, this uncomfortable muteness continue s to persist in her beloved charge. Even Husk seemed uncomfortable, but not surprised. Out of obligation alone, Vaggie had brought the talk she and Angel had from before about allowing him to remain as a resident, only for Husk to give little more than a grunt, waving his hand with a stick of a _dincher_ caught between his fingers.

“Tell me when I ain’t got a headache, _pachuca.”_

_You’ve had that damn headache since the moment you walked in Sunday evening and Charlie hasn’t made it any easier!_

The entire atmosphere feels like a damned maze of tar, hardly a few steps made to disperse this uncomfortable ambience from either of them. Every attempt Vaggie’s made to talk is always answered with a ‘I don’t want to talk about it’ from her or a ‘Not now, _bearcat’_ from him!

Just what the hell happened on Sunday?

“Daaaayyyum!”

Swiveling on her toes, she raises her fists in reaction, only to be met with the bug-eyed wonder on Angel’s face, his studious eyes alternating from the weapons mounted on the walls to the display tables. 

Startled, Vaggie foregoes any and all greetings. “Where did you come from?” 

The wonder exchanges for an offended glare, the cocksure Italian leaning over his hip. “The _door._ Where else?”

“How did you find out about this place?!”

“I’m not as stupid as you like to pretend I am. I know what a secret entrance looks like.”

“Huh?” He followed her down here? Or was she too careless and left the door ajar? Knowing neither answer can change the outcome, she stomps toward him with a huff, taking up a throwing knife from one of the weapons’ tables. “You’re not supposed to be down here!”

Immediately, Angel jumps back from her. “Hey! What are you about to do with those?!”

Again, she’s caught dumbfounded. Looking down at the throwing knife, she returns a frown. “I’m not going to use it on _you!_ I’m practicing.”

“‘Practicing’? For what?” Thick lashes beat in frantic confusion, watching as Vaggie turns on her toes and cocks back her arm. 

Much to his surprise, all it takes is a flick of the wrist, and he can follow the blade cutting through the air until it plunges only inches from the bullseye just above the cube of hay. In his astonishment, he looks down to the cube, jaw ajar when he recognizes the polearm of a half-buried spear. “....Well, fuck me.”

“Language.”

“Fuck _you_?”

A laugh bites back behind her teeth. 

“I heard that!” Angel’s finger stops inches from her cheek, his arrogance raised in victory. “You thought it was funny!!”

“It wasn’t.” Arms cross tepidly, glare raised. “This is a private area. Husk sees you here, he’ll kick you out faster than he drinks his _bootlegs._ ”

“Think yer givin’ _baby grand_ too much credit. He prefers pretending I don’t even exist!”

She can’t argue with that. “Can you blame him?”

“’Ey!”

Vaggie smirks, though it falls just as quickly. “To be honest, he hasn’t been himself lately.”

Still annoyed by her earlier slight, he gives a derisive snort. 

“Yeah, him and Blondie both! Ya seen ‘er face? Looks like she’s seen a ghost! Or maybe she saw my toys again…” A licentious leer lifts, but to no avail.

Vaggie shakes her head, turning over to the table where the throwing knives lie. Baring down at her own reflection across the silver, her troubled eyes stare back to the polished edges. “Don’t remind me…”

He’s too busy looking at each display table, marveling at the polish and shine of each blade, long and short alike. The next table has three flasks, all different shapes but with the same insignia stamped in the center of their silver casings. Each has a silver cross cap.

 _These for holy water or fire water?_ he wonders, looking over appreciatively to a few guns mounted on the wall.

Walking into a secret gymnasium full of the type of toys his brother would drool over was not quite what he had in mind for a family of exorcists, but it would have been his third guess behind a hidden doorway.

“This what kitten meant when she said she ‘hunts demons’?”

Vaggie starts. “She told you that?!”

Angel smirks. “I even know the color of her underthings.” He cackles at the brunette’s scandalized snarl. “Kidding! Kidding! She just told me a little, but left out the good stuff.” He spreads his arms out to the gymnasium, “Like this shit! I was expectin’ a _gin mill_ or maybe this was where ya hide the _stiffs,_ at least!” His laughter grows at the cute wrinkle on her nostrils. “Aw, lighten up, _bearcat!_ Ain’t the first time I stumbled on someone’s dirty l’il secret! This is pretty tame to the _bushwa_ I’ve seen! I could write several novels of the sickos I rubbed elbows with.” Angel stops, thoughtful. “That actually sounds like a good idea, considerin’ ya made me quit the streets. I’d make some easy _greens!_ ”

“I’m not in the mood right now!” Vaggie huffs, fingers rubbing away the tension in her head. “Look, just please leave. I’ve already got enough to deal with. I came here to relax.”

Angel’s smile falls. The _pachuca,_ up to this point, has always beared herself as infallible, undeterred to any weathering of scathing remarks; the moment something seems to perturb Blondie, she starts _casting a kitten_. 

Can he blame her? No, not for a second. After all, for the short time he’s been around, he’s come to care about Charlie, who reminds him so much of his beloved twin. So, hell yes, he’s worried, but what the fuck can he do? _Zip,_ that’s what! While she’s still unwilling to divulge what’s happened, his hands are tied. By the looks of it, she’s no stranger to holding secrets.

Vaggie’s words repeat in his head, and only now does he understand the truth behind them: ‘ _We all have shit we want to hide.’_

 _Yeah, I guess all of us do._ Looking over Vaggie’s expression, he finds himself unsatisfied with leaving well enough alone. He grimaces, stuffing a hand into his pocket. _So, they’re part of a secret council of religious kooks. Big whoop!_

“‘Ey!” Vaggie looks up when he leans over the table, nudging his chin to the rows of knives. “Pass me one o’ those.”

“You shouldn’t be–”

“Yeah, yeah, ain’t allowed t’ be down here. You’ve already said as much. But I’m here, and I wanna try what you’re doin’ with the shivs! Now, give it here!”

Confusion tilts her messy braid over her sweaty shoulder. Aside from his unwelcome appearance, the fact he’s not reacting a little more ‘terrified’ at the different weapons leaves her dumbstruck. “Excuse me?”

Heterochromatic eyes roll. “ _Please?”_

“That’s not the– Ugh!” Giving up, she takes up one of the knives, carefully picking it up by the blade to present the hilt to the other. “Don’t cut yourself.”

“Oh, pshht! How many _rubes_ ya think I had t’ deal with in a day?” Regardless of his tone, Angel takes the hilt gingerly, watching the blade carefully pass from her fingers. He doesn’t want to knick those hard-working hands of hers. He gives the knife a long, hard study. “What is this? Stainless?”

“Silver and steel.”

“Don’t sound too sturdy.”

“Not for humans.”

Raising his eyebrow, he gives her a snort. “Right, so sturdy enough for demons?”

“I’m not as steeped in the lessons Charlie and Husk are, but by the tomes written by _some_ demonology scholar — he’s got a fancy name I can never remember — silver is a holy metal demons can’t stand to be around. Since Husk’s occupation deals with evil spirits and not humans, the arsenal in this room is rather unorthodox.”

Angel pauses, giving the knife a more deliberate examination. “That right?”

Vaggie doesn’t have time to shrug in response when he suddenly pivots on the balls of his feet, flicking his wrist with tried and true aim toward the wooden target.

_Fwip!_

The sound reaches Vaggie’s ear before she has a true understanding of Angel’s movement, her surprise wide open to the knife now lodged on the opposite side of Vaggie’s knife, framing the red bullseye with equal distance from the center.

“Damn…”

“Oh, shit! Gotta repent fer dat one, doll! Wouldn’t want the Big Guy t’ send ya to the Inferno!” the Italian smirks, waggling his brow shamelessly, eyes twinkling their diamond mischief.

Vaggie dismisses the tease, little more than a twitch to her lips to erode the stone of her mask. “I’m not worried. I’m already spoken for.” Leaning over, she dusts her trousers, but not before saying with a smirk of good humor, “Lord, forgive my transgressions, but more so Angel’s, for being a moron.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Just in case.” A soft exhale of breath tilts a small smile, turning her face before Angel can have a proper gander at her features. “I’m surprised though. You’ve got some good accuracy.”

“Eh, I woulda done betta’ with a Tommy. I coulda hit that bullseye ten times ova’.”

Vaggie spins on her toes, eyes flashing. “What?”

True curiosity was the cause of her question, a mere desire to understand their potential resident. So often, all he spoke of were his raunchy encounters, boasts of his impeccable features’ abilities to swoon the masses by a single snap of his fingers. All Vaggie means to ask for is another facet of him, another version past the tacky dresses and depraved affairs.

Memory serves yet another nugget in her bank, for the evening they met the _gigolo_ brought a rather telling detail when she recalls he had carried a pistol of his own.

What Vaggie doesn’t expect is to see a shadow cast across his eyes, his pale tresses to veil an expression riddled with unwanted memories. He retreats from her, one step after another, an arm barred over his chest as though he means to shelter his heart.

“...Angel?” Vaggie calls in bewilderment, a step taken across the mats beneath her feet. “Angel, what’s wrong?”

The response takes too long to answer, for already he turns away as soon as his back touches the door. “...Yeah, I’m- uh- I’m gonna head up. Don’t wanna give gramps a reason t’ throw me out.”

He rushes up the steps with an unknown urgency, leaving Vaggie baffled with yet another thing to worry about.

* * *

Charlie’s not listening.

She’s writing down the notes and repeating back his lessons, but Husk _knows_ she’s not listening.

That’s why he threw in a clever little word in the middle of the Latin phrase she is to repeat. When she began to repeat the phrase, _fuck_ whispers unknowingly through her lips. Then and only then when she completes the word, her eyes suddenly blink awake from her wallowing thoughts.

She slams the tome down on her desk, jaw agape as a furious flush pinks her features into a rose garden. 

“ _Husk!!”_

Husk gives a rare smirk, and even rarer laughter, a gravelly boom of tolls similar to the stomps of his heavy boots on a pebbled pathway. 

Charlie, much to her annoyance, can’t stop herself from giving a few giggles, before her back falls again in her seat. The jubilation descends, and once again, the grotesque atmosphere of awkwardness returns between them. 

Husk can’t find it within himself to ignore it any longer. He knows why Charlie’s been so distant, being the reason she’s been so in the first place. The exorcism had been traumatizing for her, and unsurprisingly so. 

As a lad, when he first experienced an exorcism, he locked himself in his room for a week straight, refusing to come out except for food and drink, sneaking bottles of wine in his pillow case until the night drew near for him to freely drink himself into a stupor. 

He was caught one evening and soon fessed up, revealing to the priests of the images he endured when he shut himself away.

He doesn’t want the same thing to happen to Charlie. Not Mal’s kid. Not Little Charlotte.

“...Kid.” He closes the book in his hand, giving her a piteous grimace. “I think we can forget about the lesson today. Yer not even paying attention.”

Her yellow curls bounce with a vigorous shake of her head. “But I am! I’ve been writing notes, and I’m saying the phrases right, am I not?”

“Unless we’re talking about Tongues, repeating prayers without really understanding what you’re saying are just empty words, Little Charlotte, and God ain’t one to listen to people who don’t even say what they mean. Why do you think Jesus called the Pharisees ‘whited sepulchers’?”

“...Because He hates hypocrisy.” she answers gravely.

“Exactly. I ain’t about to teach a hypocrite.”

The words cut, and her anger thrives. “Says the one who drinks like a fish!”

He shrugs. “Yeah, you're right. That’s something I need to entrust to Him, but I’m a selfish bastard.”

His honesty never fails to put her in a stupor. 

“I don’t lie t’ myself, kid, and I sure as Hell ain’t goin’ t’ let you lie to _me._ ” 

Charlie’s jaw tenses, fists balled into her dress when she stubbornly looks away.

“Pout all you like, but it’s time for you to fess up. Just what happened to you at the exorcism?”

“.........” Her fingers pleat at the stray threads in her dress, her lips pressed tightly. Why can’t he see she doesn’t want to talk about it? 

“Was it because you were scared?”

She lowers her head. 

“Because you saw what a possession is really like?”

_Please, stop…_

“Because it said those sick things about you? Because I told you what it would entail! I told you everything we just saw was going to happen! You don’t have any reason to be a brat when you did exactly what you were told not to do when we began!”

“Husk...”

“You let it see your fear! You let it get into your head!” She blinks when he roughly taps her forehead. “You let it _fool_ you! Worst of all, you _fainted_ and left yourself vulnerable to it!”

Charlie presses her cheeks, angrily turning away. “I know I did!”

“If I hadn’t been there, can you imagine what would have happened? What that thing would have done to you?”

“He was chained!”

“You think human chains are enough to hold back something like that?”

She stands to her feet, intending on leaving the study.

“Look at you! You’re still running away.”

Her eyes flash, turning back. “Who’s running away? I’m still here learning, aren’t I?”

“You told me yourself you ‘couldn’t do this’ while I was exorcizing him!”

“I was scared!”

“So, you’re a _piker_ who talks until she has to face the real deal?”

A severe glare twists her radiance. “No! I _want_ to stay! I’ll keep trying!”

“Why, then! Tell me that!”

“I just–” her words falter, “I don’t have anywhere else to go–”

“ _Bushwa._ Why are you still here? _”_

“Because it’s all I know to do!”

“For Christ’s sake, girl, _why?!_ **”**

“ ** _Bec_** _au_ ** _se I s_** _a_ ** _w myself_ ** _in h_ ** _im!_** ”

The words fall like a douse of cold water, goosepimples forming under her sleeves no matter how hard she rubs her arms.

Husk remains unmovable, just as steadfast as he was during the ritual. Truthfully, he’s not surprised. Seeing something like that only to remember there’s something similar trapped within herself must have been traumatic.

“Yeah? And?”

Incredulously, she gawks at him. “‘And’? What else is there? Seeing that terrible sight and realizing that’s what I become? That my Mark turns me into a monster!?”

In a turn, the quietude is suddenly filled with an irate raise of volume from the one who had reclused within herself like a ballerina shut in her music box. Only, the little wind-up toy is spinning at breakneck speed at Husk’s rough prodding.

He watches on as Charlie pours out her heart, frustration in the wave of her arms as fear and fury blossoms on her clawing fingers, swiping at invisible imps. 

She would have been a frightful sight if Husk didn’t know this is something she needs to do. It’s something Charlie herself hasn’t quite let herself do. When she first started, she was scared, but she did her best never to complain. Through the five years of training and lessons when she knew she was getting herself into untamed waters, her long-suffering patience, endless optimism, and constant self-encouragement were tested each and every day.

Once again, Husk is impressed. She’s the rare mix of bulwark and generosity, but now, it’s all coming to a head. His discomfort for tears doesn’t matter right now.

_She’s earned this._

Her teeth part in anguish, her sparkling eyes now alight with unshed tears. Her breaths, always so soft and sweet, now pant into broken wheezes. Her hands, which she never balled outside of self-defense now curl to beat against her chest like a drum. 

Her voice, her sweet, cherry blossom fragrance of a voice is a shattered echo of dread, and everything she always left lying in the depths of her subconscious pours out in a sob.

“I can’t remember a thing, but I dream of them! I dream of the havoc I caused! Vague images of faces look at me in fear and Vaggie’s one of them! That’s what I turned into in front of all of Spring Forest! If that’s what Vaggie saw– Mr. Franks! All I could see was myself in Mr. Franks transformation!” Tears cascade down her cheeks, her hands netted into her hair. “Husk!! I– When I saw that awful face he made, all I could think of was–” She gulps, “‘What if it was all my fault? What if me being the spawn of Lucifer is what made him disappear?’”

Husk frowns. “The Franks’ heir’s not missing. After the exorcism, he’s been taken to the hospital to patch up his wounds.”

“Not _him,_ Husk!!” Bloodshot eyes beam widely, her despair barely contained in a cracked response. “Sebastian!”

 _Did she go off the deep end?_ He is hankering for a _fag_ right now. “Ok, now, you’ve completely lost me. Pork-boy’s name was Norman, not Sebastian.” 

“I’m not talking about _him_! I’m talking about Sebastian Von Eldridge!” She roughly wipes her eyes, to no avail as more pour. “The mansion we passed on the way to the Franks Estate! I knew the family there! At that mansion! He was there too in Spring Forest! He was the reason I even–”

Her breaths quicken, her feet unsteady. Already coming to her aid, he pulls her upright, looking over her face. Her eyes watch past him, seeing something he can’t when her lashes overflow with heavy tears.

“Oh, God!! Oh, God, no!”

“Charlotte!?”

She pulls back to see his face, reeling with urgency. He follows her when she weakly attempts to pull away, her shoulders completely enveloped in his larger hands. Easily, with no strength to retaliate, she submits into his chest. The warmth of each droplet doesn’t startle him this time, nor does embarrassment clip his tongue. He holds her there, curling his hands gently over her head and shoulder as she muffles, urgently tugging his shirt.

“I transformed because of Sebastian! He said such awful things to me, and then I don’t remember what happened next! Only that I would see him sometimes in my dreams! I would see him squirming under my…my hands are always around his…” Her hands begin to shake on his chest, and she bawls! “I think…I think I tried to kill him. _I think I almost killed him!_ And now, he’s _gone?_ And what of his parents? His sister?! Why is their estate in ruins? I’ve heard nothing all this time, and now this?!”

Throat raw, she quivers as weakness overcomes her. “What if it all happened because of me? What if the Von Eldridges disappeared because of me!? What if his involvement with me killed him–”

“Hey! Hey!! Easy!”

Strong arms surround her, tightly allowing her to freely wail in the safety of his arms. Nothing more is said, every sorrow spilled unto his chest by the minute. 

He remains a pillar, not a complaint passed nor a chide uttered. As she pours herself to the last teardrop, a moment of thanks passes within her heart, a gratefulness to Husk as her comforter, not her mentor.

A comfort she has not known since Pastor Ren’s passing.

_Is this what it’s like to have a father…?_

Still, even when he allows her this moment, her path still remains with an unsettling reality. A reality she is now unsure she can end on her own, with such a lonely burden no one can comprehend, no matter how much they want to.

“Husk…” Charlie croaks, her eyes closed, “if he’s dead because of me, I’ll never forgive myself... I would never wish death on him. Even if he hurt me in the past, I want him to be alright. But no matter how much I wish it, it doesn’t change what will happen if anyone were to get involved with me, right?”

Immediately, the smile of a mysterious showman flashes across her mind. She gulps down another onslaught of tears.

“Hey!” He lightly shakes her once before pulling her back to rest against his chest. “No one’s dead because of you, alright.” _At least… I hope not._

He curses his doubt back into the depths.

Still, she brings up a good point. Truthfully, he wishes he could believe the disappearance of some rich family is not her fault. She could be anyone else, and he would be sure the correlation has nothing to do with her.

However, she’s not just some ordinary _Jane._

Until she said something, he had brushed it off as just an empty home, abandoned by the previous owners. However, an affluent family suddenly disappears and the media didn’t sink their teeth into a major story like that? Not even so much as a buzz about it? Most disconcerting of all, his contacts never sent word of it either _._ He exhales slowly, looking down at the pitiful bundle on his chest.

So, this ‘Sebastian’ treated her like shit, and pushed her _over the edge_? Hopefully, this asshole she’s talking about just decided to pack up to the Bahamas and settle down there. 

_Something about that ain’t right. I have to find out for myself._ He pats her head. _If he’s still alive, I’ll be glad to straighten him out if he’s still a bent piece of wire._

“Husk…?”

“Hm?”

“What if I should let the Knights take me…?”

He rests her cheek back unto his shoulder. Something about this new thought process scares him, and he wants the idea out of her head _now._

“I won’t let that happen. We’ll figure something out, Little Charlotte. Alright… You ain’t alone in this. We won’t let you do this alone...”

Sniffles wet his shirt, but when he feels her small hands retreat from him, he drops his hands to rest on her shoulders. Bloodshot eyes, hair disheveled and face streaked from numerous tears. She looks so damn pathetic, but it strikes Husk in a wayward way he is unable to name.

He sees her lips tilt, but fall again. There’s no strength left to smile. “I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble, Husk.”

“Little Charlotte…”

“I’ll be fine. I have to be at some point. Thank you.” Her eyes remain low, chest inflating with a long, weary exhale. He can feel the weight on her shoulders, but feels helpless to do anything to remove it. “I think I’m going to turn in early. I’m sorry for making such a commotion. Could you please tell Vaggie I won’t be down for dinner? I’m just… not hungry.”

“...Sure, kid, but don’t shut her out. She’s worried about you, too.”

“...I know she is but… I don’t think this is something she can grasp.”

If that’s all he can do, he’ll do it, but even when she turns and exits the room with her head low to her chest, he sits back against his own desk, fraught with heavy thoughts.

 _Mal…_ He crosses his arms, a sliver of sadness weighing his heart. _I don’t know if I’m even doing the right thing._

* * *

_She’s there again._

_Watching._

_Shaking._

_Crumpled to the ground in paralysis, she observes Husk speak over Mr. Franks. The beast pays no attention to him but to her, his tongue darting with a snake’s precision._

_Charlie looks away, planting her hands over her ears from the awful noises surrounding her. The bats in the shadows. The shapes in the corner._

_She thinks of a song, a lullaby she made up years ago to sing for the children whenever they grew scared of the dark. It counts with the soft steps of a waltz, characterizing creeping shadows into simple shades of dark colors on the walls, stripping them of their guises as ghouls until they degrade into simple toys on the shelf._

_The sounds die away, the harsh chants, the evil cackles, and the rumbling earth beneath her knees. Chary, she removes her hands..._

_“₱ØØⱤ Ⱡł₮₮ⱠɆ ₵Ⱨ₳ⱤⱠØ₮₮Ɇ…”_

_How she wishes she hadn’t._

_A woman? No._

_A demon._

_A golden mane sits unfurled from its head, two hellish rubies staring back at her. Uneven, sharp teeth hang open. It’s tall and gangly, dressed in a dress an awful lot like her own, only it sits on the figure like an old burlap sack, tattered and bloody. Elongated fingers reach down to drag bloody razors across the floor, weaving a hypnotizing pattern of circular motions scraping the floor._

_It stands on the balls of bloody feet, rocking back and forth._

_Back and forth._

_Back._

_Forth._

_Blood gaze locked firmly unto Charlie’s horrified eyes._

_Where’s Husk? Where’s Mr. Franks!? They’re still in the cellar, but neither of them are here!_

_“Husk, where– AAAGH!!”_

_When she whips back, there it stands. She didn’t hear it approach, already pinned back to the concrete with a crash._

_The thing above her looks so emaciated, yet it withstands Charlie’s kicks and punches without so much as a sigh through its malformed nose. Upclose, Charlie sees well the crusty scales of discharge from its red-ringed eyes._

_“HUSK!! HUUUSK!!”_

_“₣ØӨⱠł₴Ⱨ, ₱₳₮ⱧɆ₮ł₵, ₩ł₵₭ɆĐ Ⱡł₮₮ⱠɆ ₵Ⱨ₳ⱤⱠØ₮₮Ɇ…”_

**_Lord! Help!_ **

_Again, she writhes, thrashing her legs, but the creature remains indomitable against the wild panic of her fists and kicks. It lowers its face to Charlie, slipping a long, blemished tongue from between the shark-like teeth._

**_Lord, please!!_ **

**_Husk! Husk!! Vaggie!_ **

_A slimy appendage laps across her neck, traveling up her neck, chin, nose and temple! She presses her lips tightly together, shivering._

_“¥ðµr ¢µ₦† §₥ɆⱠⱠ§ Ⱡł₭Ɇ å whӨrê’§…”_

**_WHAT!?_ **

_“§µ¢h ÐêⱠï¢ïðµ§ Ðê§ïrê! Hðw ßåÐl¥ ¥ðµr £lê§h ¥êårñ§ £ðr å †ðµ¢h Ө₣ å måñ!”_

_Furious embarrassment heats her face._ **_Shut up…_ **

_“Öh, §µ¢Ⱨ ¢årñåⱠ ¢ØvɆ†ł₦₲ ₣ðr_ **_₮Ⱨ₳₮_ ** _Өñê. ₮hå† ïñvêïglïñg ₮êm₱†êr åñÐ hï§ ÄÐåm’§ år§êñål, ¥ðµ §Ⱡµ††¥ ฿ï†¢h…”_

**_Shut up!_ **

_The other’s voice softens, twinkling like a bubbling brook, mockery in its sweetness. “ł ₭₦Ø₩ ⱧØ₩ ฿₳ĐⱠɎ ɎØɄ ₩₳₦₮ ₮Ø **฿₳ⱤɆ** ₳ⱠⱠ Ø₣ ɎØɄⱤ₴ɆⱠ₣ ₮Ø Ⱨł₥!! ɎØɄ ₩₳₦₮ ₮Ø **₣ɆɆⱠ** Ⱨł₴ ₣ł₦₲ɆⱤ₴ **ĐɆɆ₱** ł₦ ɎØɄⱤ QɄłVɆⱤł₦₲ ₵ØⱤɆ, ĐØ₦’₮ ɎØɄ!? ₳₣₮ɆⱤ ₳ⱠⱠ, Ⱡł₮₮ⱠɆ ₵Ⱨ₳ⱤⱠØ₮₮Ɇ–!!” _

**_I DON’T!_ **

_“ł’₥ ɎØɄ.”_

_At an instant, her voice dies on her lips._

_Morbid curiosity tempts her eyes open. The cracked skin is now a smooth pallor of silk, gaunt cheekbones now plush and rosy. The ripped open lips now healed of its too wide, bloody grin and jagged teeth now a perfect row of teeth behind the softest lips as pink as the cherry blossoms of the Ho-o-den Pavilion._

_Its eyes are framed in lashes darker than sin, and black irises full of sinful delight._

_Her heart can’t beat, nor can she breathe seeing_ herself _bear down above her._

 _Only what sits above her bears_ nothing _of her spirit. Any kindness once held in her face is swallowed in a nefarious expression, proud of the way the snarl twists her beauty. The doppelgänger pays no mind to the way the dress barely wears on its shoulders, breasts barely contained! Her pretty, yellow cotton dress, the buttons open just below the bulb of its white mounds._

_The shamelessness of it all!_

_If her hands were not bound, she would have hid her own chest out of instinct. Its hips sit on Charlie’s, a flutter of giggles escaping when its tongue laps over red lips._

_“₩h¥ ₣ïgh† ï†? ₩h¥ rê§ï§†, Ⱡï††Ⱡê Ⱡå₥฿?”_

_Lips lower to the retreating captive, shutting her eyes from this brazen image. Warm breath traces on the shell of her ear, poisonous words moaning._

_“To want a man. To want to feel his lips trace your skin just like this…” Charlie freezes when its teeth lightly graze her earlobe. “To desire his hands to worship your body…”_

_Its teeth begins to tease at her throat, a firm kiss pressed unto her jugular._

_Charlie jolts, a swath of electricity hums down to the tips of her toes._

_“Oh…?” The titters cloak her jawline when her breath hitches. “Little Charlotte…” She hears it purr with her own voice. “Oh, how naughty! Already squandering your chances at salvation to give in to lust?”_

_The weight changes, and Charlie gasps at a new sensation. The_ thing _above her starts to roll her pelvis into her own. Rolling, pressing, lifting its dress to spread its legs wide over Charlie’s petrified form._

_“Say his name!” it cries breathily, head thrown back in rhythmic pants. “Say his name!!”_

_Humiliation takes a firm hold of her, an irate shriek at last frees itself from her throat with a pious plea. Husk told her demons hate only one Name, the Name which burns like flaming coals to the skin when spoken unto the denizens of Hell._

**_“YESHUAAA!!”_ **

_The winds rip across her in a cold embrace, forcing her to hide her freed body away. The weight is gone, and all ceases just as quickly. Growls buzz above her, a fiery anger in each exhale like a swath of heat, but she dares not look up._

_“₣ł₦Ɇ...₮ØØĐ₳ⱠØØ!”_

_The lilt in those words forces her to act. Charlie jumps from her spot on the cold concrete, but stops when the world around her completely changes._

_Her senses emerge with her lying in a bed of snow. The people in the surrounding area walk on, completely ignorant of the woman lying on the steps of an old church. Looking back to the carved doors, old patches of ruin crack on its exterior._

**_Where am I?!_ **

_Seeking eyes frantically watch all around her, confused by the change of atmosphere._

_“Ⱡł₮₮ⱠɆ ₵Ⱨ₳ⱤⱠØӨӨØ₮₮Ɇ…”_

_That awful voice chortles, once more not giving any clear direction of its origins. It’s like she’s trapped in a metal room, hearing the reverberation bounce forever off the walls. She whips behind her and before her, left and right. Again she turns behind her, and there she spies the dress of yellow flailing in the wind._

_There it is. Still dancing on its toes, wearing her face. Unblemished and deceptively innocent, shamelessly allowing its body to be exposed, so unabashed._

_None but Charlie seem to see it, and it too sees Charlie, playing a game of cat and mouse; a mouse so cunning, it leads the poor cat to a bowl of poisoned milk._

_“ł ₴ɆɆ ђɨ₥, Ⱡł₮₮ⱠɆ ₵Ⱨ₳ⱤⱠØ₮₮Ɇ!”_

**_‘See him’…?_ **

_It occurs too late for her liking as to whom she means._

**_No! NO!!_ **

_Picking up her skirt, Charlie bounds after it with wild steps. Each breath burns, the pavement slipping beneath her sprinting feet, and still the distance never seems to close. The doppelgänger only bounces further away, mocking laughter uplifted to the starless heavens. As though the darkness above aids a kindred creature of its malevolent courts._

_“_ **_Leave him alone!!_ ** _”_

_Charlie prays with a soundless scream that she can make it there first, eyes burning with tears as the venture grows more futile. Her path is a blur of watercolor, a muddled canvas confused with a smearing brush stroke. The faster she runs, the further the other gets._

_The doppelgänger stops, unprovoked by the cold wind and the snow at its bare feet. The dress falls lower, its back bare now open to the dimples of her hips._

_A haunting giggle jeers. Toes point out as it spins playfully, as slow and deliberate as a mechanical doll until it faces Charlie once more._

_When their eyes meet, Charlie nearly gags. Its pretty face is marred beyond recognition, split in half to large, sharp, yellow teeth, the lips ripping wide across her cheeks. A long, ailed tongue darts from between her jaws, gaping open hungrily._

**_“DON’T HURT HIM!!”_ **

_She doesn’t know when or how, only when Charlie attempts one last thrust of her pumping feet, she’s already at the face of her oppressor, hands springing forward._

_“Stop!_ **_Stop!!_** _”_

_What she grabs onto is soft and warm. A welcoming touch of wool, and a mesmerizing scent of sandalwood. Her balance gives way from under her, the world so smudged, she can’t see the red bow tie brushing against her nose._

_Wild emotions sway to calm waters. Her body falls on its own, and she lets it, until she rests unto a warm cushion, a firm comfort to which she immediately yields. Unawares, she wraps her arms around a tall figure, a heartbeat thrumming in her mind in a lull of peace._

_Her heart swells, her hands wrapping tightly behind the neck. She got to him before the demon did._

_He’s safe..._

_“₩̶h̵₳̴₮̶ ̴a̸ ̸₱̴Ɇ̶Ɽ̶₣̸Ø̵Ɽ̶₥̵a̵₦̸₵̴Ɇ̸,̷ ̶₥̴Ɏ̶ ̵Đ̷Ɇ̵₳̸Ɽ̵.”_

_A cold chill runs down her spine, jumping back from the inhuman choire whispering in her ear. Instead of a warm smile, there is a grotesque leer of sharp, yellowed teeth. Two eyes filled with blood stare back at her. A body of a man stands elegantly, but atop the neck a great elk’s skullhead, an entanglement of ebony antlers crowned upon it._

_Charlie steps back, only for her foot to touch open air._

_It’s too late to stop herself, all of her weight falling back until she’s freefalling to an unbearable heat. She can feel the infernal flames at her back, eating away to her bones._

_Charlie reaches up as she plummets, her arm completely stripped of her skin as she begs for someone to help her._

_All that she sees above her is the tall, elk demon, and her own, beaming ear to ear above as the flames of damnation engulf her._

_Yet, the deeper she plunges, the larger their smiles grow. There is no one who reaches out to her, no one who looks down with any pity nor horror. They only look down in simple delight, with a smile of one who wears when they listen to their favorite show tune.._

_She opens her mouth one last time for a desperate scream..._

_A legion of bats then swarm from her throat, their screeching replacing her own screams as they surround her from above until she’s drowned in a black shroud._

* * *

Charlie springs up, unable to breathe.

Or more, she doesn’t _want_ to breathe.

She’s back in her room, her back wet with cold sweat. Her lungs start to burn, and with a long, cautious exhale, afraid to stir the specters of her dreams, she allows herself to lean over. Counting, she grips tightly unto her covers, immersing herself in the real tangibility of her room. The potpurri caresses her nose, her pink nighty soft to the touch under her thumb.

_Just a nightmare…_

Gradually, she lets herself fall back onto the bed. Staring up to the ceiling, an ailing annoyance builds into a rattling frustration, quaking through her until she picks up her pillow and flattens it to her face.

A long muffle rolls into the fabric, nails almost breaking through the duvet.

This is the fifth day in a row she’s had that strange dream, and she’s long since tired of it!

Slamming the abused pillow back in place, she sits up on her bed again, curling her knees close to her. Once again, she doesn’t feel well rested at all. Not since the exorcism.

Gooseflesh pricks at her shoulders again, and she curls tighter into herself, falling onto the bed with a _poof,_ comfort neither finding her whether she lies or sits up _._ She embraces the pillow, a great deal more gently than when it took her rage, and presses it in her side.

Talking it out with Husk had helped, if a little. Her mentor knows most of all what she must endure.

She’s so grateful for his support, but it’s hardly enough.

Being an exorcist, he has always faced demons, but has never had an issue with having a real demon inside of him. No one could understand that.

Not him, not Vaggie, or Angel.

She never asked Vaggie what she saw when she had transformed, nor Husk, but the dreams of their owlish faces might be all she needs for a clue.

Charlie doesn’t want to know, but this awful nightmare fills her with a self-destructive sense of morbid curiosity.

Is she as brazen as that creature? Does it crave human flesh? Does…her face incline itself to the reflection as to what she saw the heir become? Sharp teeth and bloodless skin? 

The end often plays differently, with the same result of her descent. She holds unto someone, a figure she never quite recall beyond a fuzzy apparition until tonight: 

Black antlers are clear in her mind but nothing else.

Each time, who she holds is different. The night before, it was a figure coated in red. The night before that one, all she holds is shadow. It says something to her, something she can never recall, before she always backed away and plummet down the center of the earth, the figure and her demon gleefully watching her torture from above.

Looking over to the sparkling dress draped over the back of her chair, Mr. D’Arcantel enters her mind. A bittersweetness colors her tongue, breast disturbed by joy and sorrow.

Her breaths shallow, she deepens her face into the pillow.

_Knock! Knock! Knock!_

Without any idea as to why, she quickly turns on her other side, immediately under the pretense of sleep.

“Toots?”

_Angel._

He must have overheard her. Did she talk in her sleep? Vaggie _did_ say she talks in her sleep when she’s stressed.

“Hey, what’s all this about? I heard some noises comin’ otta yer room.”

Charlie looks under the bedroom curtain. There’s hardly any light filtering through the heavy covering.

_What time is it?_

When he receives no response, she hears the doorknob turn. Tensing, Charlie closes her eyes, surprised by their wetness.

Nevertheless, her back remains to the door. Angel stands warily from the doorframe, scrutinizing the room.

“Fuck, what am I even doin’? She’s asleep. She’s fine! Right?”

Any other time she would have laughed. Footsteps enter her bedroom. _He’s coming inside?_ Slow, cautious steps close in on her as they circle her bed to see her front. She keeps her breaths steady, her face deceptively calm when she feels his eyes on her face.

“...Oh, damn…Were you crying in your sleep?”

Unsure if he’s fooled by her deceit, she does not respond.

He simply stands there, contemplating, shifting on his feet. He doesn’t want to wake her, but still, hearing her crying from the other room weirded him out! Yet, seeing her lying there to her invisible woes manifesting into physical tears, he just felt bad. Still, if she’s not even awake, what can he do? Wake her up to find him in her room like some _Peeping Tom?_

Thinking against it, he reaches out, intending to leave off with a pat to her head; only, he hesitates at the last moment, pulling back his hand to rest it against his hip with a sigh.

“ _Buonanotte, bambolina…_ ”

When he exits her room with the soft closing of her door, Charlie swallows a lump in her throat. Questioning why she was unwilling to reassure him that she is well. He would have understood! 

Lurching to her back, she looks over to her door, sigh heavy. She must have really worried him.

She’s worrying everyone. The truth of it only manifests her guilt.

_I’m sorry, Angel. I just don’t know how to talk about this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg this fucker took forever  
> —Nocturna
> 
> Oh, most certainly. So, Nighty and I tried several renditions of this chapter because the fangirl in me wanted to bring in the mysterious Mr. D’Arcantel into this chapter. Buuuuut let’s just say that his entrance felt too forced and wrongly timed, so the lot of you must endure the wait for the sexy stranger just a little longer. Soon enough, he’ll have his spotlight, and if you can be patient, the wait will be worth your while, just as Chapter 7 was!
> 
> Happy Valentines, and we promise ROMANCE BY THE NEXT ONE!
> 
> —WifeoftheSoulless
> 
> anklin’ , ankling- walk
> 
> Quiffs- sluts
> 
> Get Everleighed- have sex
> 
> dough/mazuma/ greens- money
> 
> Deep-end- crazy
> 
> chill - kill 
> 
> Dincher- half-smoked cigarette
> 
> Pachuca- Another term for Mexican
> 
> Bearcat- fiery woman
> 
> Bootlegs- illegal alcohol
> 
> baby grand- strong man
> 
> Bushwa- bullshit
> 
> gin mill- underground bar
> 
> casting a kitten- stressing out
> 
> Zip- nothing
> 
> Stiff, stiffs- dead body
> 
> Rubes- classless men, rowdy; also a term for redneck
> 
> Piker- coward
> 
> Fag- cigarette
> 
> Jane, doll- woman
> 
> over the edge- going crazy
> 
> bent piece of wire- a cruel person
> 
> Peeping Tom- a spectator who peeks in on women, normally on their privacy
> 
> Translations
> 
> Silē - Latin imperative; “Silence!/Be silent!”
> 
> Yeshua - The Hebrew name of Jesus. 
> 
> Buonanotte, bambolina - Goodnight, little doll


End file.
